The Brave and The Bold
by Praetor Corvinus
Summary: Las Vegas is caught under a casino crime spree that will test the stamina and trust of the CSI‘s. Contains bits of GSR, Yo!Bling, Simmers, and leanings toward Nick/Greg. This is a team fic and it will alternate between various characters.
1. Night and Day

The Brave and The Bold

Characters: Gil Grissom, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Greg Sanders, Jim Brass, Sofia Curtis, Wendy Simms.

Summary: Las Vegas is caught under a casino crime spree that will test the stamina and trust of the CSI's.

Warning: This is a sequel to my other story_ Am I Blue_. While it isn't entirely necessary to have read it first, I recommend it. Certain OC characters and relationships between canon characters relate to that tale. Also, Greg was the focus of the first story. This one will look at the entire team; mainly Nick, Catherine and Warrick. Greg, Wendy, Sofia and Brass will also have major roles. Unsure of how Grissom and Sara will turn out, though. I find them difficult to write for.

This story will feature the deaths of minor, but canon characters.

Timeline: Between Season 6 and 7. Eventually will turn into an alternate beginning for 7.

* * *

Chapter 1: Night and Day

The shrill sound of the alarm clock brought a frustrated groan somewhere from the pile of pillows and sheets that covered the bed. A hand reached out from the sea of linen and grasped blindly for the offending object. Seconds ticked by as the appendage wrestled with magazines, a lamp and a half empty glass of water until it successfully found the damnable contraption. A noise of triumph erupted from the bed as the hand came down hard on the snooze button. A shifting motion within the crumpled valley of cotton was the only other indication that something lived underneath. The silence that had quickly enveloped the room was only disturbed due to the soft snore billowing from the fluffy mass.

However, the peaceful tranquility was not to last. A light appeared below the closed door, cutting a violent swath of illumination through the serene ocean of darkness. Footsteps echoed across the mock-wood floor, further disturbing the silence within the room. The door swung open, light cascading down onto the horrendous lump lying in the middle of the bed. A shadow appeared, casting an ominous presence over the blissfully unaware being slumbering away.

"Greg! Wake up! You have to be at work in an hour!" shouted an exasperated Wendy Simms.

She was already dressed, wearing a dark green t-shirt and jeans. Her hair, washed and set, was done up in her usual ponytail. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for any signs of consciousness. When no such sign appeared, she walked over to the bed and calmly picked up one of the more denser pillows. She stood for a moment, looking for the man lying somewhere within the chaos before her. Sighing, she raised the pillow and subsequently proceeded to beat the mass like it was a game of whack-a-mole. Sudden jerking within the bed heralded the awareness brought forth from within.

"Hey! Quit it! I'm up! I'm up!" squeaked Greg Sanders. Peering out from underneath his comfort zone, he glared at the woman above him.

Wendy laughed, the tone of which was dripping with sarcasm. "You should know better than to hit snooze. Now come on. You need to shower and get dressed. I already made some breakfast so hurry up." She dropped the pillow on him and strolled out of the room.

With a groan, Greg rolled out of bed. Wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and blue boxers, he struggled to stand up. Blinking around the room, he tried to set his bearings. Looking back towards the bed, the thought of calling in to work slipped into his mind. Shaking it out, he gave in to his fate and walked to the bathroom.

They had been going out ever since he recovered from his dealings with Elicia Morgan several months ago. In the weeks following his release from the hospital, she stayed at his apartment. She always made sure his wounds were clean and that he didn't mess with his stitches. Despite her status as a semi-tenant in his apartment, their relationship didn't become physical until weeks later, just after the case with the psychic. After they had begun their sexual escapades, Greg considered having her move in with him. She disagreed, however. Wendy insisted that she keep her place in case of a fight or something so they would have a chance to cool off.

But fighting was not a common occurrence. In fact, it was extremely rare. Many in the crime lab often commented on how well they got along. Because they worked in different areas, neither had to be separated onto different shifts. Ecklie did warn them, however, that if their relationship began to effect their work, then action would be taken. Thus, any overt signs of their affection was kept to the break room. They tried to time it around Hodges break, just so they could piss him off. It was their greatest aphrodisiac.

About twenty minutes later Greg emerged into the kitchen, wearing a Nine Inch Nails shirt and brown slacks. He always kept a couple suit jackets in his locker at work in order to appear that he was at least trying to dress professionally. Wendy was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of Blue Hawaiian. He had introduced her to it not long after they started dating and she soon found herself hooked.

He took a seat opposite her and looked down at the short stack of pancakes she had prepared for him. Giving her a huge grin, he dove into the fluffy mound. This caused her to snort into her coffee.

"Nice manners. You sure know how to make a gal feel special."

He looked up at her and smiled. Bits of pancake and butter were mashed between his teeth. Laughter soon erupted from Wendy. Picking up a crumpled napkin, she threw it at him.

Swallowing the mass, he took a sip of coffee. "You know you love it."

Wendy gave him a cheeky grin, then went back to reading the paper in front of her. A thought suddenly occurred. She winced a little bit, knowing that she would have to tell him. Might as well get it over with.

"Dr. Cross called," she stated blandly.

A dark look crossed Greg's eyes. "Oh?"

"He said the hearing was moved up a few days. And he was wondering if you had changed your mind about showing up."

The hearing was essentially an official evaluation on Elicia Morgan's condition; to see if she was mentally healthy and able to stand trial for her crimes. She had apparently been receiving psychiatric help following her assault against Greg and Detective Sofia Curtis. Dr. Peter Cross, Elicia's psychiatrist, felt Greg's attendance at the hearing would be helpful for Greg, as well as for Elicia. 'Help the healing process,' he had said.

"No. Tell him I'm still not going to show up."

Wendy nodded her head. She figured that he would stick with his decision, and she knew better than to press him. The rest of the breakfast passed without much talking. When he was finished, he picked up his plate and stuck it in the dishwasher. He then returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth and finish his hair.

When he walked out, he was met by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his neck. He smiled as Wendy leaned in and kissed him.

"Mmm," she purred. "Minty. You're not going to be in a bad mood are you?"

He pressed his forehead to hers. "No. In fact, I think I'm already cheering up."

"Well, that's good. If you were going to be grumpy then I might have to kick your ass. Then you could really have something to be grumpy about."

He grinned. He gave her another kiss before they grabbed their gear and left for work.

* * *

Warrick Brown was busy in the kitchen of his two story house in Summerlin. Although he wasn't that thrilled to be living in the affluent planned community, his wife loved it. Tina Brown was a practicing physician over at Desert Palms Hospital. Lately, however, she had begun to express an interest in opening a private practice. This way, she reasoned, she could make her own hours and be closer to her husband.

In the months since their spontaneous marriage, their relationship steadily moved into rocky terrain. Differing hours, jealousy, and an inability to sufficiently communicate hounded them constantly. Warrick was always worried that Tina's ex-husband, also a doctor at Desert Palms, was after her. Likewise, Tina was growing suspicious of her husband's relationship with one of his co-workers. Not having the time or the opportunity to talk it out didn't help either. Hence, Tina's urge to move to private practice.

He wiped his eyes, the onions starting to get to him. Looking over at the clock hung up on the mocha colored stone wall, Warrick smiled. Tina would be home soon, just in time for them to share a meal before he had to go in to work. He continued in his meticulous prepping for the fajitas he was preparing. The onions began to really get to him. Setting down the knife, he walked over to the island and sat at one of the stools. Holding his eyes with one hand, he absentmindedly ran his other over the black and brown granite countertop. Of all the rooms in the house, he enjoyed the kitchen the most. It gave off a wonderfully warm feeling that he really enjoyed.

His mind drifted over to the state of things in his life. Yeah, their marriage was quick and impulsive. It wasn't long after it that the honeymoon phase ended and they really started to discover who they really were. It was probably one of the most trying times in his life. For awhile, the thought of divorce had been entertained by both of them. Yet neither were willing to just give up. As the months passed, they began to talk more. He learned about how her first marriage fell apart. She learned about his past addiction to gambling. With this new found knowledge, they attempted to support one another. So far, it was working.

That wasn't what was bothering him, though. While his personal life was looking up, his professional life wasn't. Work had been stressful the past few weeks. Following Brass's shooting, Grissom had become more worried over his team. He hovered over them, making sure everything was done safely and with little danger. Warrick was sure that something else, other than what happened to Brass, had to have brought this out of the seasoned scientist.

But it wasn't just his boss. It was his co-workers. Mainly Nick and Catherine. Ever since Greg and the Morgan case, Nick had become very standoffish. It was like he closed off his entire emotional side from everyone. Everyone except Catherine, who seemed to understand whatever was going on with his best friend. And he still wanted to call Nick his best friend. However, with his marriage, he found it hard to spend quality time with the Texan. The past few weeks had gotten worse, as well. Nick was constantly on the phone. If he was asked who he was talking to, he would immediately change the subject. He was also logging more overtime than anyone else in the lab. When asked, he always responded with "I need the money." Money for what?

Catherine was an entirely different animal. Much to his chagrin, Warrick had found out after his marriage how deep Cath's feelings were for him. That made their relationship very awkward. He hoped that they would be able to work through it, and for awhile it seemed like they were. Suddenly, it shifted. She began to distance herself from him. He wouldn't deny that it hurt. In fact, it hurt a lot. He knew that deep down, he cared for her. Yet, he also knew that he loved Tina. He also knew that he had to do the right thing and stay with his wife.

The sound of a door closing brought him out of his thoughts. He immediately jumped out of his stool and went back to chopping the vegetables for their dinner/breakfast. Footsteps alerted him to the other presence now in the room.

"Hey, 'Rick. What are you cookin'?" asked Tina. Wearing pink scrubs, she sidled up to her man. Placing her chin on his shoulder, she kissed his cheek.

"Hey, baby," responded Warrick. "Just some fajitas. Figured you would like a good meal."

"Mm. You sure know how to treat a lady. Let me get changed, then I'll help you."

He shook his head. "You had a long day. Why don't you relax until dinner is ready," he suggested.

She smiled lazily at him. "Helping my man cook is relaxing." Placing another kiss on his cheek, she retreated upstairs.

Warrick smiled contently to himself. Finished chopping the veggies, he took out the flank steak and started up the small grill on the stove. Throwing in some onions and peppers, he placed the steak on the heated iron.

Tina reappeared, wearing a white tank top and black jogging pants. She had also fixed her hair into a ponytail. Grabbing some plates, silverware and glasses, she set the table. Walking back to her husband, she wrapped an arm around his waist as she reached for the tortillas. Giving him a quick squeeze, she started up one of the burners on the stove and placed the flat bread over the flames. Getting them nice and warm, she placed them on a paper towel and set them aside, awaiting Warrick's grilled masterpiece.

In a comfortable silence, they worked. Each one knowing how to maneuver around the other. Finally, they sat down at the table and prepared to eat. Giving each other a warm smile, they proceeded with their meal. They talked about her day and what to expect from Warrick's night. It had become a comfortable routine that each enjoyed.

Following their supper, Warrick left to get ready for work while Tina cleaned up. When it was time to go, she met him at the door. Without warning, she gave him a very deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he asked.

She smiled coyly. "For being such a wonderful man."

He returned the kiss. Saying goodnight to her, he walked out the door. She continued to smile as she went upstairs to get ready for bed.

* * *

"Mom! For the love of God, will you stop it!" cried Catherine Willows. She was sick and tired of her mother, Lily Flynn, harping on her about this. She was not calling into work.

Lily gave her an exasperated sigh. "Catherine, he's your father. You need to spend some more quality time with him. It'll be good for Lindsey as well."

Catherine threw her hands into the air. "We just spent a vacation with him. You remember the drive to California? Lindsey kept asking him about our careers on the stage. That was awkward."

Her mother slightly shook her head. "Only for you, darling. I never showed by breasts on stage.

She felt herself slowly losing control over her temper. "That's it! You can go out with Sam if you want. I give you my blessing, like you even care. Lindsey is staying home. As much as I appreciate Sam wanting to get to know his granddaughter, I simply don't want her exposed to that kind of life."

"What life? He's wants to take us to go see Cirque du Soleil, not Thunder Down Under. Sam always made sure that you never got into any trouble and tried to shelter you as best he could. Why would he be any different with Lindsey?"

"No! It's a school night and that show goes on for hours. I'm sorry, Mom. My answer with my daughter is final."

Giving her daughter a look of disappointment, Lily grabbed her coat and handbag and walked out of the house.

Catherine let out a sigh and walked back into her bedroom. She then proceeded into her bathroom and started her shower. Stripping off her clothes, she stuck her hand under the spray and felt the water temperature. When she was satisfied, she stepped inside and closed the glass door. Feeling the warm water flow over her skin, she smiled in delight. Tilting her head back, she let her hair get wet and drizzle water down her back. Reaching for her hygiene products (of which she had many) she started to wash herself. During her ritual, she allowed her mind to wander.

The last few months had been crazy for her. She had been devastated to hear about Warrick's marriage. For two years she had nursed an infatuation with the man. She was so certain that it wasn't unrequited either. He often returned her flirting with some of his own. Looks would be directed her way that would make her shiver. Of course, they never took advantage of it. It would interfere with their job, and that was something that neither were ready to risk at the time.

So they dated other people. Or at least Warrick did. She tried. That sleaze from the Acid Drop and the creep attorney, Adam Novak. But he found Tina. How, she didn't know. They had to go to the hospital a lot to interview victims and collect bullets from surgeries. He probably bumped into her at one point. She had heard him talk about it in passing to Nick, but never really thought anything about it. It didn't sound to serious after all. Then Nick was buried and everything changed.

Warrick married Tina on an impulse. She still remembers the shock she received when she saw the ring on his finger and his nonchalant explanation behind it. Why did it cut her so deep? They weren't dating. They weren't involved in anyway. Yet, she felt like he had betrayed her. Afterward, she felt that she could move beyond it and work with him normally. It didn't work. So now she found herself trying to distance herself from him, if only for her sanity. Was that fair to him? Probably not, but she didn't know what else to do.

Then, to add more problems to her already tangled life, Sam and her mother were back together. That was a whole new Pandora's Box creaking open. Sam Braun had always been a close acquaintance to her, ever since her days as a dancer and even before. Yet, she always felt that there was something dark within him. When the murdered showgirl appeared, it really didn't surprise her that he may have been the one to have done the deed. What did surprise her was the revelation that she had always suspected: Sam was her father.

Catherine shut off the water and reached for a towel. Drying herself off, she continued to drift through her thoughts.

After that case, their relationship became understandably strained. Even after he gave her that check, she still couldn't trust him. And now, her mother was actively dating him. She even convinced her to allow Sam to accompany them and Lindsey to Disney Land. What a wonderful trip that was.

She shook her head. It wasn't to bad actually. It was seeing him try to bond with her daughter that had her upset. Lindsey was already developing some bad traits. She didn't want her to pick up anything from Sam.

Her mother's words suddenly came back to her. "_Sam always made sure that you never got into any trouble and tried to shelter you as best he could. Why would he be any different with Lindsey?_"

She did have a point. Sam never did anything wrong by her. It just felt wrong. She was a criminalist and he was certainly a criminal, after all. That didn't mix well.

Looking at the clock on the shelf, she realized if she kept daydreaming then she would be late for work. She quickly went about attacking her hair, getting dressed, and putting on her make-up all at the same time. She had done it for so many years that she was a pro. Once she was satisfied with her look, she grabbed her purse and her kit, left a note for Lindsey, and went to work.

* * *

Conrad Ecklie walked with determination as he made his way through the busy halls of the Crime Lab. It was that time of the evening as swing shift filed out of the building and the night shift came in. People cleared a path for him through the corridors leading to the office of one Dr. Gilbert Grissom.

Knocking on the door out of courtesy, he then let himself into the insect infested den of the entomologist. He grimaced slightly as he looked around the office and it's strange inhabitants. Shaking his head clear of odd thoughts, he returned his attention to the task at hand.

"Grissom."

The man sitting behind the desk looked up at the intruder. Raising his eyebrow, Grissom responded. "Conrad. What can I do for you?"

Ecklie stepped further into the room. "I've been going over the time sheets for the past few weeks. Stokes has been acquiring to much overtime. Did you approve this?"

Taking of his glasses, he sighed. "I know that he has been staying a little later after each shift. How much time as he accumulated?"

"Nearly 40 hours of OT a week. He's been working double, sometimes triple shifts. Several of the lab techs have told me that if there isn't a case to work on, he's processing evidence in the labs. Gil, I don't know if he's having a problem or what, but he has to stop. Tell him to go home or I'm cutting his hours to make up for the extra expenses." With a polite smile, Ecklie turned and walked out of the room. Grissom frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nick had said before that he could use some extra income and had requested a few hours. But not this many. Now that he thought about it, he was always here when Grissom left in the mornings and when he returned that night. Did he even go home?

He rose from his chair and exited his work sanctuary. As he walked down the halls, he peered into each lab in an attempt to locate his CSI. He finally saw the man in question resting his head on the table in the break room. When Grissom entered the room, he took in the sight of the overworked man. He was pale, and thinner than he remembered. Dark circles were under his eyes. How did he not notice a member of his team wasting away?

Quietly, Grissom steeped forward and tapped the Texan on the elbow. Nick immediately jerked and sat up. His red, blood shot eyes darting quickly across the room in an attempt to locate himself and his surroundings.

"Gris?" he questioned.

"Hey, Nicky. Have you gone home?"

Nick blinked a few times. "No…Yes. Yeah, I've been home."

Grissom frowned. "When?"

Nick narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Ecklie has informed me that you have gone way over your allotted work hours. I'm sorry Nick, but you have to go home. You have the night off."

"What? No! I need this Grissom." pleaded Nick.

The supervisor slowly shook his head. "It's either this or Ecklie is going to cut your hours to make up for the time you've taken. I said you could have a few extra hours. Not triple shifts, Nick. I'm sorry but my hands are tied."

Nick opened his mouth in an attempt to continue his case, but then he heard laughter coming from down the hall. Looking up, his eyes darkened as two people came into view. Greg was prodding Wendy in the side and she weakly attempted to swat his hand away.

"Fine. I'll go home," he said curtly. He ignored the slightly surprised look on his boss's face as he stood up and quickly walked past the Californians. Neither of them really took notice of him as he brushed by without so much as a greeting.

He silently walked to his truck and got in. He then let out an frustrated groan. Quickly, he drove home and ran into his house. Sitting at his desk, he pulled out a calculator and did some adding up of numbers. Running his hand across his scalp, he released an agitated sigh. He didn't have enough. Not nearly enough. He could always get a second job. The agency advised him against that though. He had to prove that he could be supportive on his own without too many sacrifices. Loans were out of the question, too. Great.

For hours he sat at his desk, mind racing to come up with various solutions. Eventually exhaustion overtook him and he slumped over onto the wooden surface and slept a deep but dreamless sleep.

* * *

Author's Note: This first chapter is more like a prologue, no real action taking place. The title of this chapter relates to the state of things in the characters' personal lives. Greg/Wendy and Warrick/Tina are the day to Catherine and Nick's night. I do not know how long this story will be. As of now, it might be longer than _Am I Blue_.

I have no beta as of now. I'm hoping that I can do a fairly competent job in checking myself. If not...anyone willing to beta?

Please review and let me know what you think.


	2. A Night to Remember

Chapter 2: A Night To Remember

The lights and sounds of Las Vegas Boulevard were intoxicating to the senses. The glimmering bulbs that lined the street captivated the eyes with a look of sheer enchantment. The unique pitch of slot machines ringing a victory allowed the prospect of hope to take hold. All this fueled the illusion that anyone in Las Vegas could be a winner. It disguised that fact that in this city, the only true winner was The House and those who controlled it.

Vanessa Blair stepped out of her cab and took in the ambience that suckered so many into bankruptcy. She was staying in the Golden Nugget over on Fremont Street, but she had to see the glitz and glamour of the Boulevard. Excitedly she began her walk from Mandalay Bay with an ultimate goal being the Stratosphere at the other end of the strip. She was determined to stop at most of the major casinos along the way.

She hit the Luxor, Excalibur, MGM, New York, New York, and the Bellagio. She then decided to take a break and catch a show at the Mirage. After about an hour, Vanessa realized she was hungry. Walking across the street, she stepped into the Imperial Palace to indulge in some Asian cuisine. Feeling relatively content, and confident she had enough food in her system to counteract any more alcohol she was going to intake, Vanessa continued on her quest.

She had decided to come to Vegas for a much needed vacation. As an accountant, she didn't have much of a life back home in Nebraska. Her job was a typical nine to five and her social life was limited. Before she knew it, she was 35 years old, single, and a workaholic. That revelation really shook her. She was almost forty and she never really lived beyond the confines of her quaint state. Las Vegas was a chance for her to cut loose and live a little.

Continuing down the street, she came across the Tangiers. She knew it was an older casino, but a much frequented and famous one. Looking at the money she had in her purse, and remembering what she had in her account, Vanessa stepped inside the rich atmosphere. For years, she had built up a small side account for personal expenses. Unfortunately, she had never spent a penny of it. Further evidence of her lack of life. She didn't care if she lost the money or not. This, she figured, was going to be her finest holiday.

Vanessa stood just beyond the entrance. With a smile on her face, she looked around in an attempt to locate the game that struck her as the one she would win at. She stopped suddenly. Her eyes widened over a slot machine stationed near the back of the last row of slots. It was like a golden light appeared from the heaven's and illuminated the contraption for her. She quickly exchanged some bills for quarters and made her way to the chosen one.

By the time she got there, however, someone had already sat down in her chair. Feeling disgruntled, she decided to stand nearby and wait for the unwanted person to vacate her seat. Fifteen minutes rolled by without the unnamed individual even budging from the stool. A waitress came by and took Vanessa's order for a martini. Tapping her fingernails on a nearby rail, she huffed. This jackass had better move on.

After her third martini, the gentleman finally moved on to another game of chance. Luckily, he was unable to hit any sort of jackpot. Happily, Vanessa realized that that only increased her chances of a big win. Sitting down, she proceeded to pump her silver coins into the machine. She was so focused on the revolving pictures, she didn't notice a group of men walk into the casino. Neither, in fact, did most of the patrons of the gambling hall.

A lone security agent did. He slowly, casually moved towards the group. Maybe they were just a business party or old college buddies? Something about them unnerved him, though. They were looking around the casino with a predatory gaze. Or at least they would be, except all were wearing sunglasses that matched their dark clothing. As he moved closer, his hand brushed gently against his sidearm. He felt extremely uncomfortable around them.

One of the gentlemen looked over at the agent. Without any warning, he pulled out an automatic pistol and fired at the agent. Four bullets collided with his chest, killing him instantly. As a few people screamed, five of the men turned back toward the front entrance. With haste, they grabbed the frightened people near the doors and pushed them violently into the room. Then they locked the doors and pulled out some cans of black paint they had in a bag next to them. Quickly pulling off the lids, they threw the paint at the doors. They watched as the dark latex fluid ran down the glass, obscuring the view from outside.

Several more security agents rushed forward, weapons drawn. Six other men, standing behind their supposed leader quickly used their own weapons to mow them down. A few bystanders got caught in the stream of bullets as well.

Vanessa screamed and ducked behind her machine. Almost everyone in the building followed suit and tried to hide behind tables, chairs, even other people. She watched in terror as the leader stepped forward.

"Everyone shut the fuck up!" he shouted. "Stay where you are or I'll fucking kill you!"

As he was speaking, the six men ran over to the money exchange counter and demanded every cent that the cashiers had. Frightened beyond terror, the poor men and women behind the counter moved as quickly as they could to acquiesce with their demands.

From amongst the crowd, one man stood up. He appeared to be a pit boss. The leader turned his head toward the man and raised his weapon.

"Do you have any idea whose casino this is?" the man shouted brazenly.

The leader grinned. "Of course." He then shot the pit boss seven times. Blood spatter covered the people cowering next to him. The leader turned back to his cronies. "Are you guys done yet?"

"Almost. This bitch is going way to slow," one of the men said referring to a cashier.

The leader stepped up to the counter and looked at the woman in question. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she put money into the bags the men had provided.

"Should have moved faster." He then shot her between the eyes.

Vanessa felt tears stream down her face. She had never been so terrified in her life. This was supposed to be her vacation. Stress free.

"Alright, that's good enough. It's not really what we're after," stated the leader. The rest of the crew picked up their bags of money and quickly made their way to a side exit. The lead man turned and began to follow his men out.

Vanessa quietly began to stand up and peeked around the slot machine. Was it over?

The leader and two of the others stopped. They turned around.

"And for being such good sports, here's a reward."

Raising their weapons, they opened fire into the crowded room.

Vanessa's eyes widen in fear and attempted to duck. She didn't even feel it as a bullet went straight through her skull and splattered her brain all over her lucky slot machine.

* * *

Las Vegas Boulevard was ablaze with red and blue flashing lights. Police cars, fire trucks and ambulances lined the block where the Tangiers made it's home. Just beyond the yellow tape were crowds of reporters, photographers and regular Joe's with cell phones trying to get a glimpse of the carnage from within. A media helicopter circled the sky above with the same objective.

Two black Denali's pulled up next to the police vehicles. Out of one stepped an older man with a graying beard, a brunette and a tall, dark man. Stepping out of the other was a redhead and a younger man with light, wavy hair. The five grabbed their work cases out of the back of their respected vehicles and then began their walk beyond the yellow tape.

Two of the officers guarding the tape, Mitchell and Prichard, lifted it up and allowed the CSI's through. Grissom looked over toward the entrance of the casino and saw Sofia Curtis waiting for them. The five quickly made their way over to her.

"Boy, have I got a scene for you," the detective said without any sign of a smile.

Grissom gave her a grim nod. "So I've heard. What are we looking at?"

"Surviving witnesses say about a dozen men walked into the casino and demanded money. All wore sunglasses and dark clothes. They shot any guards or civilians who got in their way. As they were leaving, they opened fire on the crowd. We're still not sure how many casualties. The paramedics are sorting the wounded from the dead right now."

"How did they escape?" asked Sara.

"Through a side door used by maintenance. It's a locked door that requires a key card."

"Inside job?" cut in Warrick.

"We don't know. Brass is over with the casino owner now. Sam Braun."

"Alright," said Grissom. "Warrick, go collect the security tapes. Greg, head over to Brass and see what Mr. Braun has to say. Sara, Catherine and I will start processing the main scene…"

"Grissom," interrupted Catherine. "Let me talk to Sam."

The supervisor shook his head. "No. You know why, Catherine."

The red head turned toward Sofia. "Is Mr. Braun a suspect?" she asked.

"Not at this time."

Catherine looked back to Grissom and waited expectantly.

He sighed. "Fine."

The team split up and went their separate directions. Warrick went around through a service entrance while Catherine remained outside. The other three noticed several police officers and even a few paramedics standing awkwardly close, but not to close, to the main entrance. They all looked slightly sick. Just as they approached the darkened door, it opened. David Phillips quickly came out. Dr. Al Robbins followed after him. He nodded with a sad look toward the CSI's and went after the assistant coroner who was bending over a trash can. They exchanged worried looks, but continued on.

As Grissom, Sara and Greg stepped inside the casino, they stopped abruptly. The sight before them was horrifying. Even the seasoned forensic expert was feeling bile churn in his stomach. Blood covered the room. The once fancy carpet was stained and soaked crimson. Red liquid dripped from card tables and slot machines. At least a dozen bodies were lying throughout the room. Some appeared so mangled that they resembled ground beef. It had been a massacre. The room was filled with the stench of metal and gore. What few officers were in the room wore masks over their faces to block the smell.

Grissom swallowed, quickly regaining his composure. He turned to the other two. Sara had a hand to her mouth, her face deathly pale. Greg's hands had a slight tremor in them and his own face had a green shade to it. He suddenly turned around and made a beeline to the door.

* * *

Outside, Catherine walked toward Brass. He was standing near a parked limousine with Sam Braun. She casually stepped up to the two men. Sam looked at her with a gleam in his eye, but quickly returned to a darker face. Brass had no sign of humor on his. She nodded toward the Captain, a gesture to signal his continuation of the questioning.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Catherine watched as Greg came barreling out of the casino and emptied the contents of his stomach into a cigarette ash can. She felt worry and concern over her colleague. However, she was satisfied somewhat as Sofia walked over to him and placed a hand on his back. She returned her attention to the men in front of her.

"Have you received any information leading up to this that might shed some light on who did this," continued Brass.

Sam shook his head. "No. This is as much a shock to me as it is for you."

"They escaped through a door that requires a security key from your casino. Are you sure that you had no idea this would happen."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the detective. "If one of my employees is involved in this, I can assure you that I will hand them over to the proper authorities." He then looked at Catherine. "Muggs," he greeted.

"Sam," she returned. "I'm going to need a complete list of every person employed at the Tangiers."

He nodded. "My manager will be more than happy to get you one." He gestured to a man standing a few feet away.

"I'll have some more questions for you later, don't go anywhere," stated Brass. The detective then walked over to the manager.

Catherine stayed with Sam. "I thought you were seeing a show with my mother tonight?"

"He was," came a voice from the limo.

Catherine looked over and saw Lily sticking her head out the window.

"Mom! What are you doing here?"

"She was with me when I got the call," Sam replied.

Catherine looked between the two, growing angrier by the second. "You brought my mother to a crime scene?"

Sam blinked at her. "I wasn't aware it was what it was until I arrived. All I was told was that there was an incident that occurred."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is that your official statement?"

"Catherine! Stop interrogating him!" snapped Lily. "He was with me the entire time."

"Great! Give him an alibi." She then stopped and ran a hand across her hair. "I'm sorry. Sam, I…" She sighed.

Sam nodded his head and gave her a slight smile. "I understand, Mugs. You have my word I was not involved in anyway and if I had known about the scene I wouldn't have brought Lily."

Catherine looked in his eyes and saw a gleam of affection in them. She returned a small smile of her own, then started toward Brass.

* * *

After wiping his mouth, Greg gave Sofia a slight grin and a nod of his head, signaling that he was alright. He then took in a deep breath and walked back into the building. This time he was prepared and was able to avert his eyes to other, less bloodstained areas. Sara, who wasn't looking so good herself, advanced toward him.

"You alright?" she asked.

Greg nodded. "Yeah." He was feeling a little embarrassed by his lack of constitution. "Wasn't prepared for this I guess."

Sara frowned slightly. "I know what you mean. I almost had to follow you out that door," she said in an effort to reassure him.

He grinned at her attempt. Both looked up as Grissom walked over to them.

"Everything alright?" he asked, eyeing them with concern.

"Yeah, it's all good," replied Greg. Sara smiled to the older man.

"Good. Greg, I want you to process the escape route the suspects used. Sara, you take the entrance. I'll be over at the money counter."

"Who is going to process the…uh…there," Sara stammered as she gestured over to the game hall.

"Once the paramedics and coroners have cleared the area, then we'll move in," was Grissom's response.

The three split up and went about their respected assignments. Greg was particularly grateful that Grissom had given him the escape route. There was no gore over there. He approached the security door and knelt down to open his case. Taking out the necessary equipment, he began to check the door for prints or any other sign of trace evidence.

He couldn't believe he lost it over there. He'd seen some pretty bad crime scenes before. Traffic accidents were the worst. He remembered a pile up on the interstate leading out of Vegas a few months ago. The driver of a semi-truck fell asleep at the wheel. It was four o'clock in the afternoon on a Sunday. The road was crowded with people heading back to nearby towns in California or Arizona. Total casualties were around twenty people. The wounded was closer to fifty. The entire lab was called in for that one.

Despite all the mangled cars and trucks, limbs hanging out of windows, this was worse. That had been an accident. The thought that this was caused with the intention of mass murder started to churn his stomach again.

Perhaps this was why he wasn't doing so good. Nobody could deny that Greg loved life. Seeing what his fellow man was capable of, however, began to suck out his joyous nature. Children in trashcans, sociopathic siblings, or deranged lounge singers, it didn't matter. Each one reminded Greg of the evils of men. And this, this was truly disheartening.

Thank God for Wendy. After his experience with Elicia, she comforted him. Despite his perceived infidelity, she never spoke of it. She was is anchor, his link to the old life of the lab. She held many qualities that he figured he once had. A certain love of life. When he was with her, he felt himself smile more. For that, he would love her forever.

Greg stopped suddenly. Did he just think that? Love? Was he…in love? Sure, they spent much of their free time with each other. And it was true that they would gravitate toward one another whenever they both were in the lab. At home…well, lets just say the sex was beyond belief. Wendy could be naughty when she wanted to be. That thought caused a mischievous smile to form on Greg's face. Even in this grisly place, Wendy brought the old Greg out. Maybe that _was_ love.

With a smile still on his face, he began to dust the outer door for prints.

* * *

After making sure Greg was going to be alright, Sofia turned her attention to Doc Robbins. She quickly walked over to him and waited until he was finished giving words of encouragement to David. The assistant coroner gave off a weak smile, then turned and took a walk around the area. Robbins looked up at Sofia.

"Detective?" he questioned.

"How's he doing?" she asked, referring to David.

The older man shrugged. "He'll be fine. Even those of us who deal with death everyday still have a breaking point. You?"

"Luckily, I only peeked inside. Vega got the bad draw and is covering the game room," she responded.

He nodded then began to make his way back into the house of horrors. Sofia watched him go, then turned back to make sure everything was going okay with the outside. Tired, she released a small yawn. Stretching her arms, she felt a small ache in her side. Running a hand over the tiny scar, she was reminded of how she got it.

About two months ago, she received a call from a Doctor Cross. Apparently, he was Elicia Morgan's psychiatrist. He had informed her that a hearing was coming up and that he felt she should be there. It was important for her to give her testimony, or so he said. She had told him that she would think about it.

It had been a tough couple of months. First, Elicia Morgan. Then the incident with Officer Bell. Finally, just a few weeks ago, Brass was shot. Maybe she should have stayed a CSI. She shook that thought from her head. She was actually enjoying her new career path. Despite the shortcomings the job had, she still managed to get some fulfillment out of it.

It also gave her a chance to see the whole picture of law enforcement. There were no two sides to this. The scientists and the uniforms were on the same team. Sometimes she felt that only Brass and herself understood that, though. A few detectives, like Vartann and Vega, had an inkling of understanding. But others, Cavalier and O'Riley, just viewed the scientists as geek squads. That pissed her off during her days as a criminalist.

She wondered if Grissom was ever bothered by that. He seemed to have a good working relationship with most of PD. Yet, who knew what really went on in his mind. Was there more than just insects and blood spatter? To get inside his head for one moment, that would be an experience she would find very…enlightening.

A slamming car door brought her out of her thoughts. She looked up and felt herself flinch. Undersheriff McKeen had just arrived. She braced herself as he ducked under the tape, nodded at Officer Pritchard, and walked directly toward her.

"Curtis. You in charge here?"

"No. Captain Brass is. He's over there with CSI Willows." she pointed out.

He grunted and made his way over to them. Sofia sighed. She had really grown to dislike that man.

Brass had finished questioning the manager and was looking over his notes. Catherine was back by the limousine, talking to Sam and Lily. He smiled slightly at the thought of that combination.

"You got any information for me?"

The Captain looked up and saw McKeen staring at him.

"Jeff," he greeted. 'I've got plenty of info. What it all means, I'll tell you later."

McKeen glared. "Why not now?" he demanded.

Brass simply shrugged. "I haven't been able to consolidate everything into a tidy gift basket for you. I was even going to put a nice bow on it," he dryly replied.

"Jim, this is a high profile case. The media is everywhere, phone calls have been bombarding the Sheriff's office, and you're cracking jokes?" shouted an irate Undersheriff.

Brass only smiled. "I've recently taken a new look on life. Forgive me for not being bothered as much as you are." Staring into McKeen's angry eyes, he decided to acquiesce. "I've taken statements from Sam Braun and several of his managers. Catherine has been given a complete list of casino employees to look through. Sofia is covering the perimeter. She has taken several statements from witnesses who were outside at the time. Vartann is in the security room taking _their_ statements. Vega is covering the primary scene which Grissom and the head coroner are also currently in. Anything else?"

McKeen pursed his lips. "No. Next time, start with that." He then left Brass and entered the service entrance.

Watching the Undersheriff leave, Brass felt relieved. He hated dealing with that man. He flexed his shoulder, wincing slightly. The doctors had said that there would be soreness in the muscle for sometime. They also recommended that he stay on leave for a few more weeks, that due to his age the wound would heal slower. Yeah, like he was going to listen to that. He wasn't going to admit it, but outside his job he had no life. A failed marriage, an estranged daughter, can you call that a life?

Rubbing his shoulder, he sighed. Time to get back to it.

* * *

Warrick walked down the hallway toward Casino Security. He was curious to see why there was so many uniforms in one place. He knew it was a Braun casino and had heard it was bad. How bad, though, was the question.

He came up to the door and knocked. Not waiting for an answer, he let himself in. The room was filled with computer monitors and other security devices. Four computer techs sat at the modules. In the center of the room stood a casino manager, the head of security and Detective Vartann.

Vartann looked up at Warrick and nodded his head in greeting. Warrick returned the gesture and approached the men.

"John Walker, Michael Holt," Vartann said, referring to the manager and security chief respectively, "Warrick Brown, CSI."

Warrick shook their hands. "I'm going to need any and all footage you have of the robbery," he requested. The two men nodded and Holt directed one of the techs to provide Warrick with the disks.

As the techs worked, he looked into one of the monitors. This one was of a camera situated in the room Grissom and the others were in. He grimaced as he took in the sight. He saw Greg clamp a hand over his mouth and bolt from room. For once, he was grateful to be sent somewhere other than the primary scene.

Holt approached Warrick and handed him a couple disks. He knew he had better get this to Archie as quickly as he could. Without a word, he exited the room. Walking down the hall, he passed by the Undersheriff. They acknowledged each other's presence, but said nothing. Suddenly, he heard his phone ring. Checking the caller ID, he smiled.

"Hey, baby," he greeted.

"_Hey. I bet you're at the Tangiers aren't you?"_ asked Tina.

"Yeah. Shouldn't you be asleep instead of watching the news?"

"_Actually, I got called in. Apparently it's pretty awful over there."_

Recalling what he saw on the computer screen, he was forced to agree. "It is. Probably one of the worst I've ever seen."

* * *

"Well you take care of yourself over there. I have no idea when I'll be home."

"_Same for me. Love ya, babe."_ her husband said.

"Love you more," Tina replied. She hung up her phone and prepared for the task before her.

However, a sudden wave of nausea over took her. She quickly sat down at the nearby nurses station. She ran a hand over her stomach in an effort to ease the urge to vomit. This was the second morning she woke up feeling sick. Tina quickly hoped she wasn't coming down with something.

Feeling a little better, she stood up. Sniffing the air, she frowned. The normally clean smelling hospital smelled like food. This really made her feel ill. She ran to the nearest restroom and doubled over a toilet. Oh, she really shouldn't have had those fajitas. 'Damn you, Warrick,' she thought.

Wiping her mouth and washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. She seemed to look alright. A little pale, but fine. Waving it off, she exited the bathroom. The sound of loud talking, sobbing and screaming reached her ears. Looks like the first batch of victims had arrived. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 3: Behind Closed Doors

Wendy's face was plastered to the microscope. It had been so for the last couple of hours. The amount of evidence that had been brought in from The Tangiers was overwhelming. It was already five in the morning and she wasn't anywhere close to being done. She was definitely working a double today.

Warrick had arrived back about three hours ago. He had gone into the A/V lab and hadn't been seen since. Grissom had stopped into her lab not long after and gave her an exuberant amount of evidence to process. She hadn't heard from Hodges or Mandy since the boss's arrival so she figured they were overloaded as well.

The sound of footsteps entering her lab caught her attention. She refused to look up however.

"No, I'm not done. Take a number and I'll get back to you later."

"Oh. Okay." Greg said, crestfallen.

Her head snapped up. Greg had already turned around and was leaving.

"Whoa! Hold on! I didn't know it was you. Come back."

He turned back around and gave her a sad smile. He then walked slowly up to her and placed his chin on her shoulder. She raised her arm and gave him a hug.

"That bad, huh?"

Greg closed his eyes. "You have no idea. There was blood everywhere. I probably smell like it."

Wendy sniffed the air. "Actually, no you don't." Actually, she was lying. He had a faint hint of something. Metal perhaps, probably from the drying blood. She didn't have the heart to tell him that, though. It wasn't that bad, anyway.

He snorted. "Luckily, Grissom had me process the escape route."

She pulled back from him and grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go on break."

With her hand still on his arm, she led them over to the break room. She sat him down and began to make some coffee. She turned back around and was stunned. Normally, Greg would be fidgeting or tapping his leg or something. Instead, he sat perfectly still. His eyes were focused forward, yet not focused at all.

She had seen this look cross his face occasionally. Usually it happened when he was working a particularly gruesome case. Also, she'd seen it appear whenever jazz music was being played. And whenever certain songs came on, he would immediately turn off the radio or leave the room.

She walked over to him and snapped her fingers a couple times. "Hey, you awake in there?"

He jerked his head and blinked at her. "Huh?"

"You sure that you're okay?" She was getting concerned now.

He nodded. "I will be."

Wendy suddenly got an idea in her head. She smiled coyly. "Maybe this will help you along."

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his. Greg smiled into the kiss. He placed his hand behind her head and deepened the embrace. She moaned while gently caressing his cheek. He turned his body toward her's and with his other hand he pulled her into his lap. She frowned. Readjusting her legs, she straddled him.

"Oh, for the love of God! Why do you two always do this when I'm ready to eat?" yelled an irritated Hodges from the doorway. He then turned and marched off down the hall.

Pulling apart, Wendy grinned at Greg. He countered with one of his own.

"You saw him coming, didn't you?" Greg asked.

Wendy wiggled her eyebrows and her smile grew. "Figured you could use a pick me up." She started to shift herself slightly on his lap, only to stop abruptly. She looked at him slyly. "Looks like you did get a pick me up."

With a predatory gaze, Greg grabbed her waist and stood up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and allowed him to carry her to the nearest supply closet. Glancing around, he quickly shut the door. The faint sound of a lock clicking echoed softly down the hall.

* * *

Warrick stood behind Archie in the A/V lab. Rubbing his eyes, he groaned. He had been watching more video feed then he normally did in a week.

"How do you do it, Archie?"

"Through lots of training," the tech responded, knowing what Warrick meant. "Have you ever stayed up for a 48 hour Star Trek marathon?"

"You were up for two days?" Warrick asked doubtfully.

Archie shrugged. "It was the original series. 'Spock's Brain' almost made me call it quits but Mudd always cheers me back up."

Warrick shook his head. "Whatever, man. I don't have your stamina, I guess. Page me when you find something."

Walking toward the break room, he sniffed the air. A smile spread on his face as the distinct aroma of Greg's Blue Hawaiian wafted through the air. As he entered the room, he looked around. Nobody. Perfect. Before the notorious coffee fanatic could return, he quickly poured himself a cup.

With his stolen liquid treasure in hand, he decided to run over and grab a few things he remembered he was low on in his kit. Walking over to the supply closet, he reached out for the doorknob.

"Hey, Warrick. You got a minute?"

Stopping, he glanced up and saw Sara advancing on him. Warrick turned and looked at her full on.

"Sure, what's up?"

"I have a question to run by you."

"Okay, shoot."

"It's actually more of a theory. Can you follow me?" She asked.

Dropping his hand, Warrick nodded. As he walked after her, he slowed slightly. Had he heard something fall in the supply closet? He listened. Shaking his head, he figured he just imagined it and continued on.

As he stepped into one of the labs, he saw that Sara had photos spread out over a table. Glancing at them, he cringed. They were of the game room at the Tangiers. Once again he was thankful for being assigned somewhere else. He turned his attention back to Sara, waiting expectantly.

Sara wasn't looking at the photos. Instead, she was looking in a folder. After a few moments, her head came up.

"What would someone's motive be for robbing a casino?" she inquired.

Warrick blinked. "Money," he stated as if it were obvious.

Sara frowned. "Why a casino and not a bank?"

"People think it's easier to knock off because of all the money floating around the floor. Banks keep it locked up."

She nodded, but pressed on. "Casino's generally have tighter security. How much would you grab for such a risk?"

Unsure of where this was going, he cocked his head. "I don't know. Couple mil. If it could be done."

"According to the insurance report Catherine faxed over, our suspects only got away with a couple thousand. With that many guys involved in the hit, it's a pretty small cut."

It was Warrick's turn to frown. "Would have been easier to hit an ATM or convenience store for that amount."

Sara stared directly into his eyes. "So I ask again, what would be a motive for robbing a casino?"

He thought hard about that one. "Something other than money?"

She nodded. Her face was still set in stone as she looked at the photos. "What if it were personal."

He narrowed his eyes. "For whom? Against what? The Tangiers? Braun?" His mind unintentionally drifted to Catherine.

Sara didn't reply. They stood there for awhile until Warrick's pager went off.

"It's Archie. I got to go"

"I need to talk to Grissom."

Both CSI's turned away from the grisly pictures and went about their separate tasks.

* * *

Grissom quickly made his way into the ballistics lab. Bobby had been given several bullet shells to process. The majority of shell casings were in Print and Trace for Mandy and Hodges to process. Although he doubted that Bobby would be finished, he at least wanted to get an update.

Bobby was writing something when Grissom walked in. He looked up and nodded.

"Hey, Boss."

"Bobby," Grissom returned. "How is it coming?"

The tech shrugged. "It's coming. I've found the model used by your suspects."

Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Model? They all used the same gun?"

Bobby nodded. "As far as I can tell, yeah. An automatic pistol, Beretta 93R. Used originally by police and military. Of course, the general public can get their hands on these too. They're no longer in production, but there are so many of them out there and they're extremely popular."

The supervisor frowned. "So what you're saying is that anyone could have used these."

"Sorry, Grissom." Bobby nodded his head.

The older man sighed. "Alright. Let me know if you come up with anything else."

As he walked out of the room, he noticed Ecklie heading his way. The director's eyes were focused on a folder in his hands. Grissom got a determined look on his face and moved to intercept.

"Conrad," he called out.

Ecklie looked up. "Gil?"

"I know we are running on overtime here, but I need Nick."

The balding man frowned. Before he could speak, Grissom pressed on.

"This has turned into a very complex and high profile case. My guys are tired and a few extra hands would help us all out."

Ecklie thought it over. Finally, he nodded his head slightly. "Fine. I'm sure I'll be able to clear it. But inform Stokes that he will be taking time off when this over. That's not a request."

At this point, they had arrived outside a supply closet. Ecklie turned back to the folder in his hands.

"We're already over budget on a lot of things. I don't want to rush the case, Gil, but try to close it as soon as you can."

He then reached out for the door the handle. Just as he was about to turn the knob…

"Grissom."

Both men looked up and saw Sara moving toward them. Grissom felt a small smile appear on his face. She barely acknowledged Ecklie, keeping her eyes on Grissom.

"I have a theory I want to run by you."

Ecklie blinked. "Let's hear it," he stated curiously.

Sara frowned. "Follow me."

Just as they were about to leave, Warrick ran up to them. The three, startled, looked over at him.

"Gris, Archie has finished looking through the tapes. He thinks that one of the suspects is an employee at the Tangiers."

"Are you sure?" Grissom asked.

Warrick nodded. "The guy pulled out a security key in order to open that maintenance door. He also seemed to know his way around the place. During their escape, he led the way. Archie was unable to identify him, but he's definitely either a current or former employee."

Grissom scratched his chin. "Well, that's something. Call Nick. Tell him to head over to the Tangiers and give Catherine a hand."

Warrick nodded and walked down the hall. They saw him pull out his cell phone. Sara coughed, grabbing their attention. She led the two men away, just as the sound of a small moan trickled out from behind the closed supply door.

* * *

The sound of his cell phone made Nick lazily open his eyes. Sitting up, he realized he fell asleep at his desk. It wasn't the desk that clued him in, it was the ache in his neck and back. While attempting to crack his sore bones, he reached for the phone.

"Stokes."

"_Hey, Nick. Grissom needs you to come in."_

Nick frowned, although inside he cheered. "Why? He sent me home. Said I have too many hours."

"_I'm guessing you haven't watched the news. Robbery at the Tangiers. Twenty-three dead so far."_

His eyes widened. "Holy shit…"

"_Yeah. Get your lazy butt up and get moving. Grissom wants you to head directly over to the Tangiers. Catherine should be there."_

"Okay. I'm on my way."

Ending the call, he quickly stood up. Heading toward the bathroom, he shed his clothes. As he started the shower, he thoughts pondered about his current situation. He knew he was going through some kind of crisis. He refused to call it a mid-life crisis, instead equating it to his underground adventure (as he and his therapist liked to call it now). Despite a few ticks here and there, he had originally felt pretty secure with himself. Hell, he even made a few self-discoveries.

This led him to think about Greg. Although they had always been relatively close, he never realized how he truly felt about the man. It didn't begin to scare him until Greg began to train as a CSI. They started to work together more and Nick found himself longing to be near the younger man. It terrified the shit out of him. He was extremely grateful when the team was split, even if half of him was devastated.

Lying in that box, however, his eyes opened. Life was too short and who cared what anyone thought. He wasn't going to shout it from the rooftops or anything, but he accepted the inevitable: he, Nick Stokes, was in love with Greg Sanders.

After that, he did his best to find out which team Greg played for. For awhile, he thought he might pitch for both. Indeed, he even thought that he might share Nick's feelings. How wrong he was.

Nick was done with his shower at this point and was in the process of shaving. His eyes darkened as he continued to allow his mind to wander.

He had come so close to spilling his secrets. That day, when Greg was drunk and panicked, Nick almost told him how he felt. He honestly believed that they could have had something. What an idiot he was. Of course Greg was straight. All those stories he told, the over-the-top sexual escapades, all true. Well, as true as much as he could suspend his disbelief. Seeing Greg and Wendy kiss in the hospital, that shattered his heart.

Placing his hands on the counter top, he stared at the bits of shaving cream sitting on the sides of the sink basin.

Greg had found Wendy. They seemed happy together. Warrick had Tina. Where was his happy ending? Hadn't he been through enough in his life. Now he had to sit by and be a witness for everyone else? That wasn't fair!

He walked into his bedroom and went into his closet. Grabbing a few articles of clothing, he smiled.

Well, he wasn't leaving things up to fate anymore. He was going to take charge of something in his life and he was going to make sure that he would be happy. All he needed was money and the approval from the service.

With determination, he stepped out of the closet and went to his car.

* * *

Back at the lab, everyone was busy with work. No one took notice as the supply closet door opened up and a disheveled Wendy Simms stepped out. Attempting to fix her hair, she quickly made her way back to the DNA lab.

A few seconds behind her, Greg Sanders emerged. Tucking his shirt in and buttoning his pants, he tried to erase the grin and flush on his face. Silently, he proceeded over to the Print lab. There was a slight bounce in his step.

Fifteen minutes later, Mandy let out an irritated sigh. She glanced over her shoulder. Yep, Greg was still there. Why did CSI's have to hover?

"You know better than others that standing there isn't going to speed things up."

Greg let out an amused grunt. "I know. I just want to."

"Can't you bother Wendy or something?"

A slight grin crossed his face. "I already did. What, you don't enjoy my company?"

The tech shook her head. "Isn't Hodges around? Bug him."

"I'm having to much fun here."

"This is revenge isn't it? For the record, you deserved to be punched."

"Oh, I agree. Nothing says I still can't punish you."

She scoffed at him. "What makes you think you can punish me?"

An evil rictus appeared where his grin had once been. "Well, Wendy does tell me things…"

Startled, she looked at him. Wendy didn't tell him that she use to have a crush on him did she? She wouldn't do that. Would she?

Something malicious sparkled in his left eye. It seemed to say that yes, she would. She felt her face blush.

Her computer signaled that something had been found. Relieved, she looked at the results.

"We've got a match on one of your suspects. Rory Regan. He has a gaming license through the Nevada Gaming Commission."

Greg grabbed the printout and quickly left to find either Warrick or Grissom. Mandy made a mental note to talk to Wendy later.

Looking into the break room, he saw both men. "Hey, we've got a suspect."

Both looked up. Grissom spoke first as he got up from his chair, forgetting his meal. "Who?"

"Rory Regan, looks like the employee."

Grissom quickly left the room, Warrick and Greg in tow. Walking into his office, he grabbed the list of Tangiers employees. Skimming through it, he found the name.

"Regan, Roy. Blackjack dealer. Worked there for five years."

Warrick whistled. "Wow, that's a long time in a casino. Most of these places have a high turnover for dealers who don't get promoted."

"Maybe he figured it was time to get whatever was owed to him," Greg suggested.

"He has an address listed here," Warrick continued.

Grissom was already on the phone calling PD.

* * *

Detective Vartann was sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers impatiently. Although he was happy to be back at PD and away from the Tangiers, he at least wanted something to do. There was no lead to go on, yet. Hopefully, the lab would come back with…

His attention was caught by his cell phone. Picking it up, he saw it was from Grissom. Good. "Vartann." he answered.

"_Its Grissom. We have a name on one of the suspects. Rory Regan. Tangiers' employee._"

A smile formed on his lips. "Great. You've got an address?"

"_Yes."_

Vartann quickly copied it down and thanked the lab supervisor. Now he had something to do.

He quickly got up and ran through the halls of LVPD. With this info, he knew he had to act fast. There was no way of knowing if the suspect was still at his address. He ran past Sofia Curtis, who quickly moved out of the way.

"Whoa, what's the rush?"

He briefly paused to inform his colleague, "We've got an ID and an address on one of the suspects."

Sofia changed directions and started to walk quickly alongside Vartann. "Who."

"Rory Regan. Works at the Tangiers," he replied as they passed the Undersheriff's office. He was slightly pleased that she was coming with him.

As they continued on their way, neither saw McKeen quickly pick up his phone. "Daniel, we've got a problem. Yeah. I need you to take care of it."


	4. Sympathy for the Devil

Chapter 4: Sympathy for the Devil

It was eight in the morning and police were still swarming around the Tangiers. Now that it was daylight, the regular people of Vegas were awake and all wanted to know what had happened. A few crowds had developed around the casino, media trucks and reporters at the forefront. Luckily, all the bodies had been removed. The cleaners would hopefully be called in soon to erase the dark stains in the game hall. Of course, this was a stain that might never be removed from the casino's reputation.

Sam Braun stood in his office on the top floor of his casino, pondering his next move. With a brandy in one hand, he played with a pen in the other. He had been given the gold laced pen as a gift from Frank Sinatra many years ago. Back then, the Tangiers was one of the brightest lights in this God forsaken town. All the hottest acts played here. Sam smiled as he thought of those good old days.

The smile disappeared as he gazed out of his window at the pandemonium below. His grip on the glass tightened. Someone did this to him. _Him_. He recognized a personal attack and this reeked of vendetta. Well, two can play that game. While the police were doing their investigation, so was he. As soon as he found out who…

A knock at the door made him turn toward the sound. "It's open."

The door opened and Catherine walked in. He felt some of the stress leave him. His daughter always had that effect on him. No matter what was going on, her presence calmed him. He gestured for her to take a seat on the black leather couch. She did, with Sam following her action.

"Muggs."

Catherine smiled at the name. "Sam."

"How is everything?"

She shrugged. "We may have a lead. A name came up, might be an employee. We're looking into it now."

Sam smiled slightly. "I meant, how are _you_?"

Catherine stared into his eyes. Concern and something else stared back. "I'm good."

He nodded. "Lindsey?"

"She's doing fine. A few character flaws. A little too stubborn."

The older man chuckled. "Runs in the family, I guess."

Seriousness crept back into her. "Sam, I have to ask again. Are you sure that you knew nothing about this?"

He took a deep breath. "Catherine, please believe me. I know I haven't always done right by you or your mother; I'm aware of my flaws. I may be many things, but I would never be a willing party to the murder of innocents."

Catherine took notice of what wasn't being said. He didn't say he would not be party to murder, just not murder of innocents. She tried to erase that thought, but it wouldn't flee. She knew that the name of Braun commanded respect. She also knew that with that respect was fear. What was he capable of?

She looked into his eyes. There was no sign of anything dark, no malice. Just the kind and tired look of a man who has seen and done too much. She wondered if her eyes would tell the same in a few years. She reached out and placed her hand over his. He watched her action, then returned to her eyes. A warm smile crept across his face. It was the type of smile she always wanted from a father. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more behind that smile.

Her hand was removed just as quickly and she once again took on a serious demeanor. "I want to believe you. I really do. I just know too much I guess."

Sam furrowed his brow. "Catherine, you _don't _know. That's just it. You only have ideas, theories. I'm sorry I missed out on so much in your life. I know you don't approve of certain things that occur in this business. But don't judge me based on that bias. I've already lost my sons, I don't want to lose you too."

A knock broke their concentration. Sam turned toward the door, but didn't take his eyes away from hers. "It's open."

Nick walked in and looked around. Spotting Catherine and Sam, he slowly moved toward them. The two on the couch stood up.

"Nick? I thought you were off?" Catherine asked.

"High profile case, you know the routine."

"Yeah, I do," she replied . She turned back to her father. "Sam, you remember Nick Stokes?"

Sam nodded and extended his hand. "I do."

Nick took the offered hand and shook it firmly. "Mr. Braun." He turned back to his colleague. "So, you want to fill me in?"

"Well, at least a dozen men walked into the casino last night and opened fire on the patrons. They only took a couple grand. The escape route was through a secure door that requires a casino key. We believe that at least one employee is involved," she summarized.

"So what's our next step?" Nick inquired.

"We run background checks."

The two moved to the door, Nick nodding at Sam. As soon as he stepped out, Catherine turned back toward Sam.

"How can you lose something you never had?" she calmly asked.

Sam watched her leave, sadness spreading over him. It was brief, however. He still had work to do, after all. Picking up his phone, he made a call.

"Has he been taken care of yet? Good."

* * *

Three police cruisers pulled into the apartment complex. Well, an apartment complex in name only, thought Vartann. It looked like it used to be an old, rundown motel. Now it was augmented into an old, rundown apartment. Beautiful.

Sofia was already out the door before he got his seatbelt off. He took off after her, pulling his sidearm out along the way. Four officers were behind them as they approached the door. Sofia stepped back as he closed in on it. She raised her gun slightly.

He quickly knocked on the door. "LVPD!" he shouted.

Nodding at the other detective, he turned and kicked the door in. Cautiously, the two stepped into the room. Seeing no one around, they quickly gestured for the other officers to come in and clear the area.

After checking the main room, they approached the bathroom. Sofia slowly walked up to the door, which was slightly ajar. She nudged it open and took aim inside the small room. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene. There had been a struggle. The mirror was shattered and glass was scattered across the floor. The shower curtain had been torn from the bar. The main attraction, however, was the figure lying in the shower. The man was spread-eagled, face staring up into nothing. A bullet hole was nestled right above his right eye. Dead.

Sofia looked over at Vartann. Staring back into her eyes, he frowned. This wasn't exactly what he had planned.

Outside, a Denali pulled into the parking lot. Warrick and Greg got out and waited for the okay to process the seen. They were unaware of the blue car sitting across the street. Nor were they aware of the man sitting in it, watching them. The unknown figure quickly dialed into his cell phone. The conversion, as far as the two CSIs were concerned, went unheard.

* * *

Nick was sitting at a booth in one of the many restaurants inside the Tangiers. He was reading through a list of known friends and associates of Rory Regan while munching on some French fries. He only slightly took notice as Catherine sat down across from him and stole a couple of fries.

"How's it going, Nick?"

He grunted. "Fine. Haven't found anything that jumps out at me yet."

She smiled. "I didn't mean the case."

He looked up from the paper he was skimming through. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You seem tired," she said with concern.

"Just haven't been getting enough sleep lately." Which was, of course, the truth. He then turned back to the paper, no longer interested in the conversation.

Catherine didn't fully believe him, however, and pressed on. "Does it have to do with work? Or somebody at work?"

This question caused Nick to look up sharply. He glared at his coworker. "Leave it be, Catherine," he said shortly.

The redhead didn't back down. "Nick, I'm your friend. I feel we've grown close over these past few months. That means you should know that I'm not an idiot. You're still hung up on Greg. I'm sorry, but you need to let him go."

A soft sigh escaped from his lips as the rugged features softened slightly. "I know. I'm trying. It's not easy though, Cath. Can you imagine working with someone everyday who you find…attractive? Okay, more then that. You know what I mean. The hardship of resisting little urges. He has no idea. None. Everything he does, every subtle movement…" he trailed off.

Catherine broke eye contact. "I think I can imagine that," she softly responded.

The next several minutes was filled with a comfortable silence. Each were a adrift in a sea of their own thoughts. Deciding to steer clear of her own problems, Catherine focused on Nick's.

When she first met the man, many years ago, he was a fresh faced rookie from Dallas. He was only a CSI level 1 then, and was relatively inexperienced. He was a quick study, however, and was always eager to learn. It wasn't long before he attached himself to Grissom, becoming his _de facto_ protégé. Both Warrick and she had taken to the young man very quickly. They appreciated his calm nature and a patience that rivaled that of Grissom. Even Brass, who was supervisor at the time, liked the guy.

She laughed inwardly as she thought about the reputation he had made for himself as a ladies man. They all assumed he was a walking sex-machine. Any female with a pretty face, nice legs and a decent pair of breasts was fair game. Nick was the stereotype of a sex-crazed heterosexual male. How wrong they were. Before his abduction, she never would have believed it if anyone had said that Nick was gay. Afterward, however, she was more open to idea.

Whenever the team had breakfast together, he would always try to pick up a waitress. Not anymore. That was also when he practically became attached to Greg's hip. Talk about a surprise. Of all the guys he could choose from in the lab, Nick was drawn to crazy Greg Sanders. The more she thought about it, though, the less of a surprise it was. The two had always been close friends ever since they started working together in the lab. At times, it seemed Nick was the only one to have patience for the grandiose presentations the lab rat would give. Actually, it made sense that it would be Greg.

But Greg was straight and in a relationship. It was this revelation and the timely arrival of Catherine that led to Nick's outing. He was at first terrified that she knew. He later grew to trust her and she became his confidant. Although, they never talked about it as part of some unspoken agreement. He didn't feel the need to discuss his sex life, and she didn't pry. It was more than just having someone to talk to, though. He was allowed to be relaxed and unguarded around her; no need to pretend. She felt a little honored that he let her in, even if he didn't have a choice.

"Glad to see you working hard."

Catherine's head shot up as Sam took a seat at their table. Nick didn't bother to look up from the papers in front of him. The tone used to ask the question seemed stern, annoyed even. Yet, the look in the old man's eyes spoke of humor and amusement. Once again. Catherine found herself caught off guard.

"Can't work hard all the time. Might burn out," she playfully responded. 'What the hell am I doing?' she thought. One moment, she doesn't want anything to do with the man, the next she's having fun with him. This whole relationship was confusing.

Luckily, before the conversation could proceed, her cell phone rang. She turned away slightly from the two men as she answered.

"Willows."

"_Catherine, it's Gil. We have a problem."_

She sighed. That wasn't a good way to start. "What's wrong?"

"_Vartann found the suspect. He's dead. Warrick and Greg are at the scene now."_

There went their lead. "Where do we go from here?"

"_I need you back at the lab. Sara may be on to something that I want you to look at. Is Nick there?"_

She glanced over at her colleague. Nick was staring at her, listening intently to her side of the conversation. "Yeah, he's here."

"_Have him stick with Braun. The suspect was an employee of his…"_

Catherine cut him off. "Do think he's involved?" she asked, trying not to clue Sam in on the call.

"_Not yet. He might have some information though. Have Nick get his help on collecting any employee info. Brass should be over there soon. You got it?"_

"Yeah, I do. I'll tell him." She then ended the call.

Sam blinked at her. "Problem?"

She flicked some loose strands of hair from her eyes. "Apparently our suspect is dead."

"What?" asked Nick. Sam blinked again, although she could have sworn that a faint smile crossed his lips.

"Grissom wants me at the lab. Sam, are you willing to assist with this investigation?"

The old man furrowed his brow. "I'll help any way I can, Muggs."

She ignored the pet name. "Great, help Nick look through your employee database for any links with Mr. Regan."

"I'm staying here?" Nick inquired.

Catherine stood up from her chair. "Brass should be on his way. Have fun," she offered with a smile. Then she was gone.

The two men stared after her for a few seconds. Finally, Sam stood and cleared his throat.

"I have most of my files over at The Rampart. Would you like to meet me over there, Mr. Stokes?"

The Texan eased out of his chair. "It's Nick. Let me call Detective Brass. It shouldn't be a problem though."

Depositing his left over food into a trashcan, Nick pulled out his phone. Behind him, Sam smiled as he too took out his own phone and made a quick call.

* * *

A soft humming echoed out from the DNA lab. Wendy, feeling rejuvenated and humming a tune, was busy looking at the next piece of evidence from the pile in front of her. She wasn't even perturbed as Mandy stormed into her lab.

"You told him?!" the tech shouted angrily.

Wendy looked up, confused. "I told who what?"

"Greg! You told him I had a crush on him!"

She smiled sweetly. "It may have come up." Mandy's face grew red as her lips trembled. "Come on," Wendy continued. "It's cute. Besides, you said that you were over him."

"That doesn't matter! Now he's going to rub it in my face. It's embarrassing." The last sentenced was uttered quietly and full of shame.

Wendy gave her friend a warm smile. "If he gets to mean, just tell me. We both know who wears the pants in this relationship." That got a soft chuckle out of the uptight woman.

"_Wendy Simms, you have a visitor at the front desk,"_ the voice of Judy Tremont stated over the intercom.

She arched an eyebrow at Mandy, then departed for the lobby. As she neared the front desk, Judy motioned over to a man sitting in one of the waiting chairs. He looked up at her and stood from his chair. He was about the same height as Greg, maybe a little taller. Short, auburn hair accented his light features. A stylish, yet tasteful goatee of the same color adorned his chin. The dark blue suit he wore was very professional and hid his frame very well. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties. He was kind of handsome, actually.

"Miss Simms?" he asked.

"Yes?"

He stretched out his hand to her in greeting. "I'm Dr. Peter Cross."

She had already taken his hand by the time he introduced himself. She stopped the motion mid-shake.

"Dr. Cross? Elicia Morgan's doctor?"

"Yes. Um…can we go somewhere to talk?" he asked tentatively

Wendy let go of his hand and frowned. "Look, I know why you're here and I'm afraid our answer is still the same."

Dr. Cross let out a small smile. "I figured that. Can we still talk?"

An exasperated sigh escaped from her lips. "Fine." She then led him to one of the smaller adjoining waiting rooms. She knew that she was being rude, but he did show up at her place of business after all.

After sitting down, Wendy decided to cut to the chase. "Let's hear it," she stated coldly.

"Okay. I understand everything that you and Mr. Sanders went through. From what I've heard, neither of you have seen a therapist, correct?"

Wendy's eyes narrowed at the question. "What are you implying, _Doctor_?" Damn, she could get used to this interrogation thing.

The heat of her glare made the man nervous. He began to play with his tie. "N...nothing," he stammered. Why did he feel like he was being interrogated? He decided to change tactics. "I'm invested with my patients, Miss Simms. Elicia has shown remarkable improvement. She's come to terms with…"

Wendy held up her hand. "I don't want to sound rude, Dr. Cross, but I really don't care about _Elicia_. I think I speak the same for Greg, as well."

The man nodded. "I understand, I really do. I'm just trying to help everyone involved. Closure, Miss Simms. For everyone. Elicia has expressed her desire to apologize to Mr. Sanders. I think seeing her now might help him as well as her."

She huffed. "What makes you think you know what is best for Greg. You haven't even met him."

Silence fell between them. Dr. Cross's shoulders hunched and he sighed sadly. "I'm really sorry Miss Simms. I did not come here to offend. I really am just trying to help." He got out of his chair and walked toward the door. "I won't bother either of you again."

Guilt washed over her. She was being exceptionally cruel, perhaps. The man was only doing his job. "Dr. Cross, wait. I should apologize. It's been a long day." She was relieved that he stopped. "Look, I'll talk to Greg. Maybe he would at least like to meet with you."

He smiled. "Maybe I should have started with that," he joked.

She smiled at his nervousness. "It was nice to meet you, Doctor." She raised her hand, which he took, gratefully. "You know your way out?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be looking forward to your call." He flashed her a genuine smile, then walked put.

Wendy shook her head. For a doctor, he was kind off inept with people. Maybe he was only accustomed to sick, psycho people. Oh, well. She then took off to take care of Mandy and figure out what to tell Greg.

* * *

A/N:

Ah, so many mysteries. I love it. Sam was always one of my favorite guest characters and I was so sad to see him go. I think I liked him more than Lady Heather. Anyway, I really do not have much to add to this chapter. You will see more of Dr. Cross, by the way. What will his role be, I wonder?

Thanks for the reviews and please submit more. They keep me wanting to write this story.

Side note: I almost stopped watching CSI after the 200th episode. It was horrible. However, last nights episode _The Descent of Man_ was great. It restored some of my faith in the show.


	5. A Road to Nowhere

Chapter 5: A Road to Nowhere

Despite the carnage in the room, it was surprisingly clean. No sign of fingerprints or any other amount of trace evidence. Whoever had killed Rory Regan was a professional. Or at least they knew enough about forensics to make the task of finding them all the more difficult. It was this tidbit that didn't go over to well with the two CSIs processing the scene. The fact that they were under the threat of a triple shift didn't help either.

A yawn escaped from Warrick's mouth before he could stop himself. Wiping away a few tears that developed during the yawing process with a gloved hand, he glanced at his watch and groaned. He was tired. He was very tired. Actually, he was beyond tired. He hadn't worked this long in awhile. Of course, if he were able to find _anything_ worth to process, then maybe he would get some sort of rush. He still found it unimaginable for a scene that was this destructive to be without evidence. Besides the body itself, and the blood that corresponded with it, he had found nothing.

Cracking his neck, he stood up from the shower and exited the bathroom. The only other person in the apartment was Sofia. She was standing next to the broken television, staring off into space. With the appearance of another person, she blinked and looked over at the man.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Warrick shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Whoever killed this guy knew what he was doing."

She raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think it was a guy?" This resulted in an annoyed look passing over Warrick's face. Sofia only shrugged. "I'm only saying not to get ahead of the evidence."

A mumble that sounded like 'whatever' echoed softly from the man's lips. Warrick looked away from the detective and around the room. A frown appeared on his face. He glanced back toward the blond.

"Where's Greg?"

Sofia scowled slightly. "He said he had to get something from the vehicle. That was about ten minutes ago."

A slight sense of worry swept over the man. It shouldn't have taken Greg this long to get whatever it was he looking for. After quickly pulling off his gloves, he made his way out of the apartment. The Denali was still parked outside. As he grew nearer to it, he saw the outline of a figure in the passenger seat. It was apparently slumped over against the window. He picked up his pace, worry beginning to grow into fear. Once he approached the passenger side, however, his look changed to one of shear annoyance.

Lying there, with his head resting against the glass and a bit of drool dribbling down his chin, was a sleeping Greg.

"The little bastard," murmured Warrick.

Reaching forward, he gripped the door handle and gently pulled on it until he heard the latch give. Then, in one swift and gratifying motion, he opened the door. Greg, who was not strapped in, tumbled out like a rag doll and collided with the hot cement. Now fully awake, and aware that his face was burning, Greg yelped and struggled to get to his feet. A long string of curses erupted from his mouth. Warrick had to bite back a laugh as he heard things that even a sailor would never say. Finally, the younger man stood up and glared at his coworker.

"What the fuck?! Why the hell did you do that, Warrick?" he cried indignantly.

Warrick released a small chuckle, the sight of the disgruntled young man overwhelming his annoyance. "Serves you right for sleeping at a crime scene. What were you doing catching a nap anyway?"

At this, Greg's anger shifted into irritated shame. "I was just going to shut my eyes for a few seconds. I haven't slept in almost twenty-four hours. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Realizing that he himself could collapse at anytime, Warrick was forced to sympathize with the man. "Well, while you were having your siesta, I managed to find something inside."

Greg blinked. "Really?" he inquired.

"Yep, a big steamy pile of nothing. Let's get the hell out of here."

His statement was greeted with an enthusiastic nod from the other man. He smiled some as Greg jumped back into the Denali. A look of anticipation gripped his face. Warrick left the vehicle and walked over to inform Sofia that they were done.

"Hey, Sofia," he greeted. "We're gonna head back to the lab. There's nothing left here to process."

Her face was emotionless. "Giving up?"

Deciding to head her off at her own game, he responded. "Unless you have found something. I do recall you have a penchant for processing scenes yourself."

She gave him a sly smile. "Haven't found a thing. I was just waiting for you guys to come to the same conclusion. Where was Sanders?"

Warrick shook his head. "Sleeping in the car. Figures, right?"

"It does," she laughed. "Let's go."

After gathering what little he had acquired, Warrick walked out of the apartment with Sofia behind him. She closed and locked the door, reapplying the police tape. They got back into their separate vehicles and drove away from the scene.

As they drove, Greg quiet and in a semi-conscious state, Warrick hoped that Grissom would send him home. He couldn't wait to crawl into bed with his beautiful wife.

* * *

Nick stood over by the far wall in Sam Braun's office at The Rampart. It was adorned with photographs and shadowboxes commemorating various events in Braun's career. Noticeably absent was the pair of ceremonial scissors that opened up this casino. Aware of what they meant, he tried to shrug them out of his thoughts. He was in the lion's den and he thought it best not to agitate the predator.

Braun himself was sitting at his desk talking with some manager or someone over the phone. The conversation was heated and although Nick was trying not to overhear, the raised voices made it somewhat difficult.

"So what happened?" Sam asked with a hint of annoyance. "I don't care about that. You had all the information that was needed … Well, find out! I'm not paying you to sit on your ass! Don't call me until you have something!" The older man then slammed the phone down. He took a deep breath and turned toward Nick.

"I'm sorry about that. I had some business to attend to." He stood up from his chair. "So, Mr. Stokes, where do we go from here?"

Nick walked away from the wall and over to a coffee table. "I told you to call me Nick, Mr. Braun. And we're waiting for Detective Brass."

Sam nodded, then walked over to the leather couch and sat down. He looked at Nick, as if deep in thought. Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, Nick began examining a fish statue that was collecting dust on the coffee table.

After several awkward minutes, however, Sam decided to speak what was on his mind.

"Nick Stokes," he stated as if confirming a theory. Nick looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who Catherine needed that million for." Again, more a statement than a question.

Nick turned toward the man. He found out sometime after his rescue that Cath had acquired the ransom money from her father. Only now did he realize that he never thanked the man.

"Yes, sir. I never said thank…" He was cut off by a raised hand.

"No need to thank me, son. You're a close friend of Catherine's. One of the few. I appreciate that. I must inquire, however, on the current status of my … 'investment.'"

Nick narrowed his eyes. Did Sam want something in return for his 'favor'? The man did refer to him almost like property. If the casino mogul was involved in this case somehow, was he planning on using Nick to compromise it?

Sam watched as the wheels began spinning in the younger man's head. He felt slightly amused over seeing him sweat.

"Nick, settle down. I'm only asking on how you are doing. Going through something like that could take it's toll on any man, no matter how strong. I can only imagine what it had to have been like. So tell me, how are you doing?" Sam asked with a tone that sounded like genuine concern.

After staring into his eyes for a moment, Nick decided to answer simply. "I'm doing fine. No complaints." Sam's gaze was like stone, almost like he knew Nick wasn't telling the whole truth. He felt himself start to grow uneasy under that gaze. On one hand, Nick wanted to talk about what else was going on in his life with him. He was almost impartial to the dealings at the crime lab. On the other hand, here was someone who was almost a stranger who had a dubious past. He couldn't just open up to someone like that. He did sacrifice a million dollars for him, though. Someone who was, is, as much a stranger as he was to him.

"There have been a few stressful moments," Nick found himself saying. "I've had some issues with bugs. Enclosed spaces are also a problem." He couldn't believe he just said that.

"That's understandable. Are you getting any…assistance?" Sam asked.

The CSI nodded. "I've been seeing a therapist. Says I'm getting better. I no longer have panic attacks and the nightmares aren't as frequent." At this point, Nick had given up on etiquette and had collapsed onto the leather couch opposite Braun. What he had said was true, though. Walter Gordon no longer dominated his dreams. It was someone else…

"I'm glad to see that you're doing well, then. My money didn't go to waste, after all." Sam replied cryptically. At Nick's confused face, he let out a chuckle. "It would have been a poor investment if you had gotten out of that, only to give up," he explained.

Surprised, Nick only nodded his head. Before he could formulate a response, there was a knock and an opening of the office door. Turning his head, he saw Jim Brass stroll into the room.

"Hey, Nick," the detective greeted. "Alright Sam, let's get down to it." Brass sauntered over to the pair on the couch. Sam held a slightly irritated frown on his face. This seemed to amuse the captain. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Nick stood up. "Not really, Jim. Just having small talk 'til you showed up. What is our next move?" he questioned.

Brass, in opposition of Nick, decided to sit on the expensive leather furniture. "First, Mr. Braun here is going to be kind enough to offer us access to his casino's records. Not just The Tangiers, but Pike's and The Rampart as well." After flashing Sam a cheeky grin, Brass continued. "Second, we're going to comb through every possible accomplice our Mr. Regan might have had. That includes anyone who might have had a previous job alongside the deceased." Brass smiled smugly at the mogul. "Sam," he coaxed.

The old man managed a smile before getting off the couch and walking over to his desk, leaving the two alone.

"How's the shoulder, Jim?" Nick asked quietly.

Brass shrugged. "There's good days and bad days. Have you guys come up with anything yet?" He really didn't like talking about his injury and decided to change the course of the conversation.

Nick shook his head. "Not that I know of. Cath's been called back to the lab. Anything from the new scene?"

"Sofia said they found nothing. This case is growing colder by the second."

"Detective," Sam called from behind his desk, "here's what you need, I think." He held up a computer disk.

Brass and Nick stood up and began to walk over to collect it, when Nick's phone went off. Glancing at the ID, the Texan's eyes went wide.

"Uh… excuse me. Gotta take this," he said quickly.

As Nick retreated to the far side of the room, Brass continued toward Sam. "This has all the information I requested?"

Braun nodded. "Yes. I said I would assist in this investigation anyway I can. Have a little faith, Detective."

Brass only raised an eyebrow before taking the disc and leaving the room. Sam looked over as Nick continued his conversation.

"Yes, I understand. When are they going to do this? Really? That soon? No, it's not a problem. … No, not yet. Wait…What?! Someone else is interested? How long do I have? … I should have the money by then. … Please, give me some more time. Yes, thank you. Okay. Bye."

Nick hung up the phone and released a loud, anguished sigh. He then turned toward the door and began to make his exit.

"Everything alright, Nicholas?" Sam questioned

He looked at the old man. "I don't know," was all he said before he left.

* * *

It was already mid-afternoon by the time Sofia pulled into the crime lab. She had been awake and at work for almost twenty hours now. After spending the night at the Tangiers, she had spent almost the entire morning and early afternoon at the most boring crime scene imaginable. She was tired, hungry and starting to feel a little bitchy. She just needed to make a quick stop to see if anything probative had been discovered.

After passing the front desk, she quickly made her way through the glass hallways. She felt a little nostalgic being there, almost like being home again. That feeling was quickly shoved aside, however. Dwelling on the past was something she did not enjoy doing. Luckily, all thoughts of nostalgic dwelling were erased completely as she saw Catherine and Sara in one of the observation labs.

"Ladies, how is it coming?"

The women looked up at their new guest. Catherine gave the detective a warm smile. "As of now, not good. No other leads as of yet and I didn't see Warrick come back with much."

Sofia nodded in agreement. "There wasn't much to be had at the scene. What are you two going over?"

Sara remained quiet as Catherine once again answered. "Sara had theory over a possible motive. Might be a personal attack."

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Against Braun or the casino?"

"Braun _is_ the casino," Catherine replied, "and the answer is yes."

"Do you have any evidence to back that up?" Sofia calmly inquired.

Narrowing her eyes, Sara responded. "The amount of money taken doesn't add up to an attack of this caliber. It had to be personal."

"Hm." That was the only sound to come from the detective. Footsteps in the hall caught their attention and they all turned to look toward the sound as Grissom stepped into the room.

"Sofia, pleasure to see you," he greeted. He then addressed the other women. "Go home. We're running on empty right now and getting nowhere. Hopefully a few hours rest will do us some good. By the way, Catherine, you have tonight off."

The red head blinked. "Off? Gil, we're going to need all hands on deck."

He shook his head. "Nick, Sara and I will be able to cover this evening. Until we have something to go on, having a full team on the clock twiddling their thumbs isn't productive. You're on call so should anything come up then you can come in. Besides, I'm going to need as least some of my team well rested."

Catherine begrudgingly acquiesced to his decision. Having finished what he came for, Grissom stepped back into the hall and toward his office. The three women parted ways, Catherine and Sara headed over to the locker room while Sofia followed after Grissom. As he entered his office and rounded his desk, Sofia stalled by the door.

"Gil, can I ask you something?"

He was reaching for his chair when she asked, causing him to stop mid-reach and look up. "Of course, what's on your mind?" Giving up on sitting down, he stood straighter as he watched her.

"It isn't really a question. More like… well…" she trailed off. "Back during that thing with Officer Bell, I never really apologized for putting you in that situation. Talking to you when I knew better, I mean. It was a bad choice and I…"

"Sofia, don't." Grissom cut in. "There is no need to apologize. It was a stressful time and you were looking for an outlet. No harm no foul."

"I know," Sofia continued. "I feel I need to, though. I don't have many outlets. My mother is a cop, so you have an idea what that's like. And you also know what these hours do for any sort of social life."

Grissom nodded. "I do. If you need a friend, Sofia, my door is always open." He then gave her a comforting smile.

She returned it with gusto. "Thanks, Gil. Would it be to soon to take you up on that?"

Grissom cocked an eyebrow. "I believe you have already stepped through my door," he joked.

"It's been awhile since I've walked these halls. It would be good to catch up on what's been going on."

"You know I don't dabble in office gossip."

"There is a distinction on catching up and gossiping, Gil," she pointed out. "We should have breakfast sometime."

Grissom blinked. "Uh…sure. We should do that. Maybe later in the week?"

Sofia smiled. "That would be great." Looking at her watch, she sighed. "I should probably get going, myself. A bed does sound good right about now."

"We have been working for almost twenty-four hours," he added.

"I'll hopefully see you later this week. Bye, Gil." She then gave him a subtle smile, different from the others, and walked away. Grissom watched her, confused.

* * *

Wendy slung her lab coat over her arm as she walked into the break room. Greg was lying on the couch, eyes covered by his arm, snoring away. She smiled as she took in his sleeping form. Despite his various quirks and eccentricities, he was a good man. He treated her well, and never got upset with her. In fact, given his energy and state of constant motion, he was surprisingly patient.

She knew that he desired her to move in with him. Yet, she also knew what that would mean. They had only recently migrated the relationship into the bedroom. For her to actually live with him, that was a big step. She wasn't sure how deep her feelings ran for him. He was very different from the previous men in her life.

Back in San Francisco, she had had a few boyfriends. Both in and out of the lab. Most of the time they were of a nerdy variety. Somewhere between obnoxious Hodges and ultra geek like the tox tech from days…Henry someone. Once or twice she would go for a more 'manly' type. Kind of like a Nick Stokes. Greg was completely different.

She had heard about his antics back when he was in charge of DNA. Stories of rock music, swami hats, and showgirl headdresses. Very eccentric compared to her last boyfriend. Now, however, it was like he was in some kind of crossroads. Torn between leaving the boy behind and becoming the man others feel he should be. Where did she fit into that? Was she the type of girl he would have gone for back in his days of bleached spikes? Or was she someone he was trying to adapt to in order to appear mature? Did he even know?

That is what scared her. If she gave in and began a cohabitation, opened herself up to him, would he break her? Realize that he didn't feel as strongly for her as she might for him? It wouldn't be intentional, of course. And that would hurt the most. He would stay with her out of guilt or some form of nobleness. That is something she definitely didn't want.

A snort brought Wendy back into the world. Greg had shifted in his sleep and appeared to be looking for comfort on that small couch. His face was all scrunched up and slightly distressed. She quietly walked over to him and sat on the arm rest next to his head. Reaching out, she gently ran her fingers through his hair. A soft sigh escaped from his lips and he once again looked at peace. A warm smile crossed her face.

He looked so peaceful. So innocent. Perhaps she was overanalyzing this. If she were honest with herself, she would know that Greg would never have asked her if he wasn't serious. Maybe she could give it a shot, after all.

Removing her hand from his head, she softly shook his shoulder. He snorted again, frowned, whimpered, then finally opened his eyes.

"Hey," Wendy whispered as she looked into his eyes.

"Hey," Greg replied drowsily.

"You ready to get out of here?"

"Sure." As he sat up, he rubbed his eyes. "Wait. What about the case?" he asked, confused.

Wendy stood up, coat still in her arms. "Grissom gave us the night off. Says he wants us fully rested for the next night."

He nodded. He hobbled his way zombie-like over to the locker room, Wendy silently guiding him. As he changed his clothes, Wendy put away her lab coat. After a few moments of comfortable silence, they both reappeared.

Feeling slightly more energized, Greg looked at his girlfriend with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "So the boss gave us the night off, huh?"

She returned his cheeky grin with a coy smile of her own. "Do you have something in mind, Mr. Sanders?"

His grin grew all the more evil. "I just might…"

She leaned in closer to him, her lips ghosting over his own. "Would you like me to guess?" she whispered lustfully.

"Mmm hmm," he mumbled, eyes half closed.

"Great. I think it's sweet of you to want to take me out to a classy dinner. The fact that you offered to buy is also very generous. You are quite the gentleman." With that, she stepped away from him and walked out of the room.

Greg stood there confused, both mentally and physically. "Wait…what?" He turned around to confront her, but she was already down the hall.

"You'd better hurry along," she shouted back at him. "We had better get some rest before tonight. I feel like dancing."

His once glorious grin morphed into a frown. Dancing was not the way he planned on exercising this evening. Unless of course that dance was the horizontal polka…

"Hey! Sanders! Hurry up!" Wendy bellowed down the hall.

He jogged to catch up to her. As they fell into step, he opened his mouth to inform Wendy of what he thought they should do, when Nick walked into the hall.

"Hi, Nick," greeted Wendy. Greg waved his hand.

Nick, however, mumbled something under his breath and just brushed right pass them. The two exchanged a confused look.

"Is it me," Wendy began, "or has Nick been acting weird toward us lately?"

Greg scowled. "No. He has been kind of a dick. I'll ask him about it later."

Taking his hand, Wendy led them out of the building and toward her car.

* * *

Grissom was finishing up some paperwork as knock sounded on his door. He closed his eyes and released a silent groan. Why couldn't they leave him be?

"Come in," he hollered. He was somewhat surprised to see that it was Nick.

"Hey, Griss. You busy?" the Texan asked tentatively. His mind was already racing over the phone call from earlier.

"Just finishing up some paper work. What can I do for you?"

Nick slowly walked into the room. "I need your help with something." He then closed the door behind him, silencing the conversation from the rest of the lab.

* * *

A/N: Sorry if it took longer for this chapter to come out. I've had a busy week. I know the story is kind of slow at this part. I apologize. Next chapter is the end of Act 1, however, and things will really get moving in Act 2. I promise.

As always, please review. Me love you long time!


	6. Otium Domesticus

Chapter 6: Otium Domesticus 

As he opened the front door, Warrick flinched. He was so tired that even the act of operating a door handle hurt. He dropped his keys on the coffee table and ambled his way up the stairs. He made a quick pit stop in the restroom before getting ready for bed. There was already someone sleeping peacefully under the sheets. With a smile on his face, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed. Reaching out, he gently pulled his wife next to him. She released a soft murmur and nuzzled her head into his shoulder.

"You're home," she sleepily stated.

With his hand, he brushed away a few strands of hair from her face. Her eyes were still closed. "Yeah. How was your day?"

"Mmm. Busy," Tina responded.

"Tired?" he whispered.

"Hmm," was all she said.

"Okay." He resettled himself and removed his hand from her hair. Just as he closed his eyes, however, he felt the soft touch of her hand on his cheek.

"I didn't say stop, though."

He opened his eyes again and saw her brown eyes half open, gazing into his. She had a soft smile on her face. One of his own soon adorned his face.

"I thought you were tired," Warrick stated.

She stretched a little bit. "I am. Doesn't mean we can't talk a little though."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles into her skin. "Alright. What would you like to talk about?"

Her nose crinkled. "I don't know."

"Did you really want to talk?" he questioned, a playful grin now showing on his lips.

Tina pulled closer to her husband. "Maybe not." She then kissed him gently.

He returned the kiss just as softly. His hand was still on her shoulder as her own went around to his back and pulled him in tight. Warrick smiled.

"We should probably get some sleep," he teased as he broke the kiss.

"Probably," was her only reply before both dove back in.

His hand left her shoulder and moved slowly down her white silk nightshirt. It stopped were the shirt ended, only to go underneath and begin to move back up. An excited moan escaped her lips.

It was several hours later when Warrick woke up. It was dark outside which resulted in him having limited visibility. He laid there for a few moments, unable to fall back asleep. Sleeping at night was something he wasn't used to. Realizing that drifting back into the world of dreams wasn't going to happen, he slowly lifted himself from the bed. Picking up his boxers that were sitting on the floor and putting them on, he walked over to his dresser and pulled out an undershirt. A few seconds later he began his descent toward the kitchen.

After turning on the light he looked around. He really did enjoy being in here. It was warm and inviting. An aura of domestic tranquility radiated from the room. Walking over to the refrigerator, he browsed for food. He wasn't particularly hungry, just unsure of what to do. Grabbing a can of soda and a carton of yogurt, Warrick sat down at the island. Taking a few bits made him realize, however, that food wasn't going to entertain him. It would just make him fat. He placed the lid back on the carton and pushed it away. Grabbing the can, he began the slow process of nursing his beverage.

"Can't sleep?"

Warrick looked up, startled. Tina stood in the entranceway, clothed only in a light blue robe. She walked over to the opposite side of the island and sat down. Shrugging his shoulders, he returned to his soda.

"Nah. Hard to sleep at night."

Tina nodded as she yawned. They sat there for several minutes, complete silence between them. After what seemed like forever, she spoke again.

"I've given more thought about private practice."

Warrick put down his soda can and looked at his wife. "Okay," he responded, dragging out the word.

"I'd like to do it. It'll allow me to work when I want, giving me more time with you."

"I don't want you to change jobs just for me," Warrick replied.

Tina ignored his comment. "Plus, it would bring in more money. Private practitioners do make more than salaried M.D."

This last bit of information annoyed Warrick. He was never one who cared about money or the trappings one could buy with it. "More money?" he asked. "Look around you." With this command he waved his hand around, signifying their surroundings. "We have a two-story with a pool in _Summerlin_!" His voice had raised slightly toward the end of the sentence.

This floored Tina. "So what! This isn't about money! God damn it, Warrick, it was never about money! You don't like this house? How would I know?! You never told me this! You never tell me anything! I'm doing what I can to try to please you. If you would speak up for once and tell me what you want in oppose to what I'm doing wrong, then maybe we both would be happier! And this job isn't about _me_ or _you_. Its about _us_. I'm willing to make a sacrifice here and change the directions of my career. What have you sacrificed? Have you ever even thought about switching shifts?!"

At this question, Warrick felt his anger rise. "You knew when you married me what and when I worked. My team is like family and we stick together."

Tina crossed her arms over her chest. "A family? Really? You mean like your supervisor who can't see beyond his own surroundings and notice the problems with his team. Or the woman who barely socializes with anyone outside of work. What about your best friend Nick, who hasn't spent time with you in months. That family? Oh, wait. I know. It must be _Catherine_."

Warrick crushed the soda can in his hand, ignoring the cold, sticky fluid spilling onto the kitchen floor. "Catherine has nothing to do with this."

"Like hell she doesn't! Tell me, when we were making love, were you thinking of me or her?"

"What kind of question is that?!" he shouted.

"Does she like it rough? Because last I checked my breasts didn't hurt afterward."

Now Warrick was angry and confused. "Wha…what? Tina, I haven't changed in the way I'm intimate with you. I've never thought of anyone else when I'm with you."

Tina shook her head as she raised a hand. "You know what? I think you need to figure out what is more important, the family that is falling apart behind you or the one falling apart in front of you." Tightening her robe, she turned away from her husband and went back upstairs.

The sound of the bedroom door slamming shut echoed down into the kitchen. In one swift motion, Warrick threw the can at the wall and backhanded the yogurt onto the floor. Looking around at the mess in his kitchen, he slowly walked over to the paper towels and started to clean up. After being satisfied with the cleansed state of his area, he grabbed some old jeans from the laundry and a jacket. Putting them on along with his shoes, he left the house.

* * *

"The Olive Garden?" Greg asked. "When you said classy I figured something more like Mancino's."

Wendy chuckled as she pulled her car into a parking place. "Hey, I didn't want to break the bank. Besides, they got good food." Greg shot her a questioning look. "It may not be fresh from Tuscany," she continued, "but it beats Chef Boyardee.

The thought of canned ravioli sent shivers down Greg's spine. That ship had sailed when he graduated college. He wasn't to keen on the idea of boarding it again.

Wendy looped her arm through Greg's and together they walked into the restaurant. It was late, close to closing time, so they didn't have to wait for a table. After the waiter took their orders, the couple turned toward each other. Greg reached out and took her hand in his. Wendy smiled sweetly at him and gave his hand a squeeze.

"You know," Wendy began, "I've given your proposal some thought."

At the word 'proposal', Greg's eyes widened and he went slightly pale. This gave Wendy much amusement. She chose that word specifically, just to make him sweat.

"Pro…proposal?" stammered Greg.

The smile on Wendy's face grew. "Yeah. You didn't forget did you?" she teased.

"Uh…um…hm" Greg grabbed his water glass and drank half of it in one gulp.

"Greg, relax. I'm talking about the idea of moving in together."

Her boyfriend's eyes widened even more. This time, however, in a good way. "Huh? Oh! Really? I mean… that's awesome! That would be terrific! Just, why are you agreeing all of a sudden? You didn't seem open to it before."

She shrugged. "I've given it a lot of consideration and I think we could make it work."

Greg reached out with his other hand and clasped both of hers in his. He wore the biggest smile she had ever seen. Without looking, she knew that it had to have caught the attention of the other patrons. One just couldn't ignore that smile. She couldn't.

"When would you like to move in?" he asked enthusiastically.

She raised on eyebrow. "You mean, when are _you_ moving in?"

The smile dimmed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Greg," she said calmly, "I'm sorry but your apartment is a wreck. I mean, how often do you take out the trash?"

He let go of her hands. "Are you calling me a slob?"

"Sweetie, you're not exactly the cleanest person in the world. Besides, my place is bigger."

Greg's eyes narrowed. "Size isn't everything. And I have memories at my place."

Wendy's stance took on a more aggressive form. "Memories? Might I ask of who?"

He blinked rapidly. "What? No! I didn't mean it like that! Are you implying I'm a man-slut? Last I checked, Nick filled that role in the lab. Now I really do have to question your reasoning behind moving in with an apparent slob who has slept with every person in the crime lab."

"Hold up!" exclaimed Wendy. She put her hand up to signal a truce. "Okay, lets step back a second." Greg shut his mouth. His eyes were stilled narrowed though.

Wendy took a deep breath. "I like my apartment, Greg. You want to know why?" She smiled softly as he quietly nodded his head. "I got it not long after I moved here. After _you_ hired me."

"I didn't…" he interrupted.

"You interviewed me," she cut in. "You must have given Grissom or Ecklie the reasoning why I should work at the lab. That apartment is mine because of you. Really, it always was _our _apartment. My memories of it all contain you. I want to build on that. I figured you would like to remember it in the same way."

Greg's face blushed. He looked embarrassed and it made him even more attractive in her eyes. He grabbed her hands again. "I'm sorry. I would love to move into your apartment." The smile had returned to his face as they leaned across the table and slowly kissed.

Wendy's attention turned toward her glass of wine. While examining it, she nonchalantly stated, "we should discuss you living habits."

The small talk/banter continued until their meals arrived. The next few minutes were relatively quite as they masticated their food. Both were all smiles as the ate. Something occurred to Wendy, though, as they neared the end of the entrees.

"I had a visitor in the lab while you out with Warrick."

"Yeah? Anyone I know?"

"Kind of. It was Dr. Cross."

Greg, who had a just taken a fork full of fettuccini, stopped abruptly. He looked at her, mouth open with his fork suspended in mid-air, noodle dangling from the prongs. After blinking a few times, he set the fork back down.

"What did he want?" he asked, voice empty of emotion.

She ignored his shift in attitude. "The usual."

"Did you tell him the answer was no?"

"Yeah, I did. He also asked if he could at least meet with you."

Greg had turned back to his food. "And…" he said. He was no longer interested in the conversation.

"I told him I would talk to you about it."

"Wendy, the guy just wants to have me in the same room with…with her. I'm sorry but I'm not gonna do it."

"I understand, I really do. But he is a nice guy, you might like him. I don't think he would try anything that would make you uncomfortable. I think I might have scared him. At least tell me that you'll think about."

The idea of his girlfriend scaring a shrink made him laugh. This caused Wendy to chuckle softly as well. Taking a breath, he looked in her eyes. Understanding, concern and something else stared back. He tried to place that look. He had seen it somewhere else before. Dark brown eyes, perhaps? He couldn't recall. Oh well. It didn't matter.

"I'll think about it," he responded.

She smiled again and this time took his hand. He signaled for the check. After the meal was paid for, he led her out toward the car.

"Anything else you wanted to do this evening, Miss Simms?"

She reached around and pinched his ass. Shock showed all over his face as he stopped walking. Wendy continued on, glancing behind her with a coy smile.

"I might have an idea or two…"

Greg watched her get into the driver seat before his mind start working again. A huge grin broke out on his face as he skipped over to his passenger side.

* * *

The house was quiet. It was two o'clock in the morning after all. The only light on was a lamp in the living room. Sitting beside it on the couch, Catherine thumbed her way through a book. It was a copy of the tell-all novel written by Lois O'Neill, a birthday present from Greg. Of course, it wasn't like she really needed a book to tell her the stories that she had heard from her mother for years. It wasn't bad though. She could see how Greg could get sucked into it.

Lindsey was in bed at the moment. Although it was nice to have an evening with her daughter, the ever growing problems of teenage angst put a strain on the event. She missed the days of dolls and dress up. It really only seemed like yesterday when she and her daughter would play little games and enjoy watching a movie or reading a book. Now it was all about who was dating who and how out of touch she was. By the end of it, she was a little happy that Lindsey had grown tired of hanging out with her mother and had gone to her room to text some friend.

Another thirty minutes passed as Catherine read a few more chapters. She couldn't remember the last time she had a chance to curl up and read. It was actually very relaxing. It allowed her mind to focus on something other then the problems in her life. Besides Lindsey, Sam had emerged as a key player in her mental stress. She had grown used to the idea of Sam and her mother being together again. But just because she was used to it, didn't mean she had to be happy with it.

Catherine was still convinced that he had played some role in the death of that showgirl, even if the case never went to trial and no clear cut evidence was found. How could she reconcile Sam the father-figure with Sam the murderer? Her mother was always saying that she just needed to spend some more time with him. Maybe she would…

A sudden knock on the door made Catherine jump. The house was so quiet that it sounded like drums pounding. Setting her book down, she got up off the couch and walked toward the door. Although having visitors at this hour would seem odd for anyone else, for Catherine it wasn't unusual. She worked nights after all and so did her co-workers. Late night drop ins happened occasionally. Still, it _was_ the middle of the night and you had be cautious. This was why she kept a handgun hidden near the door. Slowly she opened the door.

The sight of Warrick standing there caught her off guard. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed. She stared at him for a moment. He only looked back at her, his face expressionless. She finally moved aside and allowed him to come in. She mentioned something about Lindsey being asleep before she walked with him into the living room. She went back to her spot on the couch, nudging the novel to another cushion, while Warrick sat in an armchair. He glanced at the book she had pushed away.

"Let me guess. Greg?"

Catherine smiled. "Yeah. He seems to forget that I heard most of these stories firsthand."

Warrick chuckled. However, silence once again overtook the room. This time, though, it was unwanted.

"So why…" Catherine began.

Warrick cut in. "Tina and I got into a fight."

She waited for more, but nothing came. The idea of asking why he came to _her_ crossed her mind, but logic stated that all of his other confidantes were working. She was his only option.

"What did you fight about?"

He shrugged. "Stupid stuff."

Her eyebrow went up with that remark. If she had learned anything from her years of marriage, it was that what a guy thought was stupid was actually anything but.

"What did you do?"

Warrick shot her a look. "Me? That's not fair, Cath."

"Tina must have gotten mad enough about something to make you leave. Stupid doesn't cut it."

He continued to glare at her. She didn't shy away though. A sigh was released from his lips. "She started talking about moving into private practice."

Now she was confused. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"She was basically blaming me for having to switch her career. Then she talked about money. I swear, to her it's all about keeping up with the neighbors."

"Why is she blaming you?"

"My shift. She knew when we met what hours I worked."

Catherine suddenly saw an opportunity. She had been finding it increasingly difficult to work with him these past few months. How was she supposed to distance herself from unrequited love when the object of affection remained close by? As much as it pained her to say it, perhaps some time apart, no matter how short, would be good for her.

"Marriage is about compromise, Warrick. You know that. Give and take. You're my friend, but it sounds like all you're doing is taking. I'm sorry, but maybe you should look into switching shifts."

Warrick suddenly looked hurt. He stared at her, unblinking. "I…um…that would break up the team."

She nodded, sadly.

"But, I wouldn't be able to work with Grissom, or Nick, or…you."

The silence was back. She was struck by the way he said that. Confusion continued to swallow her up.

"Warrick…why are you here?"

"I told you. Tina…"

"Yeah, I know. But, why are you _here_?"

"I don't understand…"

Catherine sighed. "I know you don't," she said quietly. "I think you should go, Warrick. Figure out what you're going to do with Tina."

"You're throwing me out?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"You have a lot to think about. As your friend and co-worker, I strongly advise you consider switching shifts. First, though, talk with your wife. Take it from me, the first thing to go when a marriage begins to break down is communication. Talk to her. See what it is she expects from you, and you her." She placed a hand on his shoulder as she led him to the door.

"Cath…I…okay." He gave her a small smile. She returned it as they said goodnight and he returned to his car.

Alone once again, Catherine returned to her couch and picked up the book. She didn't realize her eyes were watery.

* * *

A/N: Hello! This is the end of Act 1. Let me know if you think its moving to slow. I have many plot points to do and several story arcs that are currently in play. I fear if I go to fast, then it'll be rushed. However, I do want everyone to happy. Oh, what to do?!

Okay, about this chapter: I wanted to place another scene after Catherine/Warrick, but I couldn't figure out which one to put. None of them flowed with what I had. I also had difficulty expressing exactly what I wanted from the Catherine/Warrick conversation. I hope it came across okay.

Thank you for the reviews. SuzSeb: you're correct in your suspicions. Sam and Nick will both have an impact on each other. I am very happy that you're still sticking with me!

The next act will see a breakthrough on the case. I'll give you a hint: There were actually two suspects employed at the Tangiers and you've met the other one already.

Please review! I consume them like air and water.


	7. Security Matters

Chapter 7: Security Matters

A few people turned their heads at the sound of a loud belch echoing out the captain's office. Beyond the glass windows, Jim Brass had one hand over his mouth and the other waving in the air as an apology. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he then crumpled up his burger wrapper and threw it into the garbage can. After taking a drink from his coffee, the man leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.

He knew that the Undersheriff had asked him to come to his office, but he wasn't in any rush. He held no love for the man, though he was good at faking civility. Besides, he knew exactly what McKeen wanted: an update on the case. Like they had one.

Brass groaned. 'Might as well get it over with,' he thought. Getting out of his chair, the police captain walked down the halls of PD, greeting various officers along the way. As he neared the Undersheriff's office, he saw the door was closed. A silhouette of someone standing just behind it told the seasoned detective that McKeen had company. Oh well.

Just as he turned to walk away, however, the door opened. Brass made a slight face, then put on a smile and turned back. He continued toward the office as Officer Pritchard stepped out. He had a smile on his face. McKeen must have given him some sort of good news.

"Hey, Danny. Everything going alright?" Brass asked.

Pritchard looked up at the captain, having just now noticed him. "Yeah. Couldn't be better," he responded with a grin.

"Glad to hear it."

Upon entering, Brass saw McKeen sitting behind his desk, typing away on his laptop. He also sported a slight smile. Good. That meant he was in a good mood. Brass cleared his throat, causing McKeen to look up.

"Jim, great. Please come in."

He cringed inside. McKeen's office was never someplace he enjoyed being. It was filled with expensive furniture and trinkets. They all shouted 'Look! I got money! I got power! Kneel before me!' Brass wasn't sure on his paycheck, but he knew a civil servant didn't make the kind of cash that this room broadcasted. Of course, he had his own suspicions of where he got his extra income from.

"What did you need, Jeff?" he asked as he sat down on a leather chair.

"Just needed an update on the case. The media is all over the sheriff, who is all over me. So, have you got anything?"

Brass shrugged his shoulders. "Unfortunately, no. Our only suspect is dead, and no idea who killed him. I've got several people combing through Braun's records trying to see if there is any link between Regan and anyone else. I'll let you know when they let me know."

"Sounds good. Good luck, Captain." McKeen then returned to his computer.

Brass blinked. What? Something was off here.

"Is that all?" he asked, confused.

"Yes. Thank you," McKeen responded without looking up.

"Huh. Jeff, are sure that's all?"

This time, he did look up. "Is there a problem, Jim?"

"The other night you were all over my ass about this case. Right now, I still have nothing and you seem to be okay with that. What gives?"

"I understand that this is a complicated case. If we rush something and screw up… well, we both know what the consequences would be."

'That's it,' thought Brass. 'He's only concerned about how he looks and if 'we' screw up, it's his ass on the line. That's the McKeen I know.'

"Makes sense," he said aloud. "In that case, there is no problem. See you around, Jeff." With that, Brass stood from the chair. As he exited the room, he turned slightly. The small smile had returned to McKeen's face. It was a smile that made the experienced police detective weary.

* * *

Sofia sat in the conference room. She was tired, even after getting several hours of sleep. It wasn't so much physical exhaustion as it was mental fatigue. She had been spending hours trying to figure out what their next move was. Her results so far equaled nothing.

She hated when cases came through that had no ending. It drove her crazy. That was definitely the scientist side of her. No puzzle could go unsolved. It was that mindset that drove her to the Morgan Case a few months back. That was _certainly_ something she enjoyed. Hindsight was always a bitch.

She would only be fooling herself if she said she didn't miss the science. She was good at what she did. Maybe too good. Now she felt like she was in limbo. No longer a scientist, yet not a cop. She couldn't get over the looks she received from her fellow officers when she was suspected of shooting Officer Bell. At least with this case, she was working with the few officers and detectives that she called friends.

Her thoughts on science and police wandered over to Grissom. Was he getting any closer to finding the piece that broke the case? She could call him up, see if he was available for that get-together they talked about. Was it too soon, though? Was it an appropriate time? She didn't want to distract him.

Maybe she was kidding herself. Okay, she liked the man. There, she said it. Kind of. Anyway, that didn't matter. She had no idea what Gil thought of her. The man was completely unreadable. She feel a connection, though. The first case they worked, back when she was still a CSI on dayshift, they bantered. It was…charming. Now, woman's intuition told her that there might be something between Sara and him. But logic told her that was foolish. Grissom knew better then to get involved with a subordinate. If they were involved, one of them would have moved shifts. Therefore, Grissom was clearly single. That brought a smile to her face. Maybe she would make that call after all.

"Excuse me, Detective?"

Sofia looked up at the interruption. Officer Akers was standing in the doorway, his head cocked to the side.

"What's up, Andy?"

"I was heading out to pick up some grub. You want anything?"

She shook her head. "No thanks. Not really hungry at the moment."

Akers stepped into the room. He glanced around, then back to the blond. "So…you're just sitting in here. Alone?"

Sofia blinked. Akers was slightly surprised as she released something between a chuckle and a giggle. "Yeah. Guess I am."

His eyebrow went up. 'Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I just like to come in here to think." That was the truth.

"So…nothing's wrong?"

She furrowed her brow. "No. Not that I'm aware of."

To her surprise, the young officer plopped down in a chair across from her.

"You know," he began, "my wife says I have a natural ability of deciphering woman-speak. Right now, my intuitive nature is telling me that something is wrong."

Sofia wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or amused. Normally, she didn't appreciate someone prying into her business. Andy, however, seemed different. He kind of reminded her of Greg Sanders. Not geeky, just…sunny.

"How long have been here in Vegas, Andy?"

He shrugged, as if the sudden change in conversation didn't surprise him. "A little over two years."

She nodded. "I'm assuming you've made several friends here?"

"Yeah. I like to go out with a couple of guys for drinks every now and then."

She nodded again. Several moments of silence passed between them. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed. He just sat there, looking at her, with almost Zen-like patience.

"You know that I used to be a CSI, right?"

"Yeah." This time, he did seem slightly confused.

"Do you know why I switched to Homicide?"

"I've heard a few stories. But I don't really know," he replied honestly.

She liked the way he said that. It sounded as though he heard the rumors, but shrugged them off. He clearly didn't care much for gossip.

"To keep a long story short, I got screwed," Sofia said bluntly.

Akers nodded, but didn't respond. He knew when to let a woman vent.

"I felt betrayed and abandoned. I was trained as a cop, though, many years ago. My mother's one, in case you didn't know. The lab didn't satisfy me anymore. So I transferred over. I figured it would take only a few weeks or so to feel welcomed. It was working out that way too. Then…" she trailed off.

Andy knew without her saying it. Bell. That whole investigation tore the department apart. He didn't know how much Sofia knew about the other's reactions. When it came out that Bell was shot by one of their own, so many officers turned on the ones accused. He heard the whispers about Detective Curtis. How she wasn't cut out to be a cop. How she should go back and play with her science kit. Then, when Captain Brass was discovered to be the real shooter, how they all changed their tune and turned on him. Of course, the guy was able to scare the shit out of rookies and even a few veterans, so not much came of it.

"Even though I didn't do it, I still saw how others looked at me," Sofia continued. "That incident was enough to cause them to doubt me. Talk about feeling alienated. That's when I started to come in here. It's quiet and I don't have to worry about unfriendly stares."

He watched as a sadness spread over her. "I'm sure you have friends here too, Detective."

She shrugged. "Brass and Vartann. That's two. Well, Vega's nice also. Three"

He suddenly got a huge grin. "Don't forget Officer Andrew Akers."

Sofia looked at him with shock. He was still smiling ear to ear. She couldn't help but laugh. The guy was certainly affable. He didn't understand, but he was trying. She could appreciate that.

"Alright, Akers. How about you go get me a burger. Show me the friend you are by paying for it." She teased.

His smile drooped suddenly and he looked up, deep in thought. "Wait…I think I got screwed somehow…" He dodged a crumpled piece of paper thrown his way. "Alright, I'm going!" he said with a laugh.

"Thanks. Oh, and tell your wife she was right," she laughed back.

* * *

Vartann yawned. He was feeling kind of grumpy. He hated when he couldn't find any lead on a case. Standing up from his chair, he decided to take a walk around PD. It would be good to stretch his legs. He might even be able to think of something to help the case. Walking down the hall, he saw a few officers standing around, chatting. Although he never cared for office gossip, he knew that occasionally something would go around that might be important.

"…getting all chummy with Curtis," he heard one of the men say. The dropping of Sofia's name immediately sparked his curiosity. He lingered slightly, just out of range for the men to feel he wasn't eavesdropping.

"Guy doesn't know, I guess," one of the others stated.

"Thinks she owns the joint. Man, I hate all those scientists. Think their so smart. Still don't know how a _civilian_ got to be a detective anyway."

Vartann narrowed his eyes. They way they were talking, such disdain, aggravated him. He disliked the way some of the cops treated the CSI's. Never mind that a few of them, Curtis and Stokes, used to be cops themselves. Didn't they realize that without them, it would be damn near impossible to catch criminals these days? Several of them were his friends, as well. He had grabbed drinks with Brown and Stokes a few times. Willows was also a close acquaintance. Detective Curtis was someone he was attached to. He was the one in charge of the Bell Case, and thus had grown close with both Curtis and Captain Brass. He liked the woman.

He started to walk toward the group in order to tell them off, when he saw Cavalier approach from the opposite direction.

"Hey! You guys holding up that wall there? Glad to see you filling such an important job," Cavalier said with sarcasm.

The men mumbled something before splitting up and walking their separate ways. Vartann proceeded toward Cavalier.

"Hey," he greeted.

Cavalier nodded. "Idiots. They should at least have the common sense of bashing Curtis outside of work."

Vartann stiffened. He didn't like the way he said that. So dismissively. Almost like he himself bashed the poor woman. Cavalier really resembled his name at times. Deciding to ignore the man, Vartann continued on his walk.

Once again, he was lost in his thoughts. Going past the reception area, something caught his attention. An older man had just walked in. He was wearing an expensive suit. Every cop standing nearby definitely took notice. It wasn't everyday that Sam Braun came into the Las Vegas Police Department.

Vartann immediately changed directions and approached Braun. The man looked over at him as he neared.

"Mr. Braun, good morning," Vartann greeted. "What can I help you with?"

"I would like to speak with Detective Brass, please."

"He's with the Undersheriff right now, Mr. Braun. I'm Detective Vartann and I'm also working your case. If you have any questions, I'd be happy to assist."

Braun gave him a blank, stoic look. Impossible to read. "All I would like to know, Detective, is when I can begin repairs on my casino."

"The case is still open. I'm afraid without any leads we will probably have to return to the primary scene."

Braun remained stoic. "I thought you had a suspect?"

Vartann nodded. "Unfortunately, that turned into a dead end. The security card only had his prints on it and we know there were a dozen men involved. That still leaves eleven suspects to locate."

Braun released a heavy sigh. "My business is doing poorly. As a tax paying citizen, one who certainly provides your paycheck, I am concerned. I can only hope that you and your men work a little faster so that I can continue paying your salaries."

Vartann rolled his eyes. This was a bunch of bullshit. Both he and Braun knew it. He doubted Braun even cared about when The Tangiers re-opened. The Rampart was his big money-maker.

"We are doing everything we can, Mr. Braun. I can assure you that when we have finished with the scene, we will have clean-up crews get everything back in order."

Braun huffed. Without a smile Braun turned and began to walk away. Vartann started back to his office, no longer in the mood for a walk.

"Detective Vartann?"

He stopped. Looking behind him, he saw Braun facing him. He had a curious expression on his face.

"What is it, Mr. Braun?"

"You said you found a security card. Might I see it?"

Vartann blinked. "I don't have it with me. Why?"

"My casinos have different security keys depending on where you are allowed to go. I might be able to identify the card."

He sighed. "We've already found Rory Regan's fingerprints on the card. We know whose it was."

Braun narrowed his eyes. "Dealers have a very limited access."

Vartann thought that over. Could the card have been stolen? Or could this point to another employee?

"Come with me."

He led Braun toward his office. Once inside, he pulled out the folder caring the case file. Opening it, he quickly located and pulled the photo of the card. He handed it to Braun.

The older man's eyes darkened. "This is a high level card. Only three people have one. Two I can vouch for."

"Oh yeah? Which two?"

"My assistant, who still has his, and myself."

"And the third?"

"My security chief, Michael Holt."

Braun's face developed a very deep frown. Vartann didn't notice. He was already out the door and down the hall. As he passed the conference room, he was unaware that he was joined by Sofia. She was concerned over the detective's haste. They came to a stop outside of the break room, which was filled with cops, as Brass came into view. He was strolling toward them from the opposite direction.

"Captain Brass!" Vartann yelled.

Brass looked up. "What's the hurry?"

"I just spoke with Sam Braun. He says the security card couldn't have belonged to Rory Regan. He says it belongs to The Tangiers' head of security. Michael Holt."

No one noticed as Undersheriff McKeen lingered at the end of the hall. Nor did they see the murderous look he shot Officer Pritchard in the break room as the three Detectives left in order to collect a warrant.

* * *

A/N: Okay, there were no CSIs in this chapter. However, the cops (mainly Sofia, Brass, and Vartann) are important players in this story. Originally Sofia was going to talk to Vega, but I wanted to include Akers. He's kinda cool. I also wanted to shine some more light on McKeen. I wanted to show some of the relationships between characters because it will be important later.

No one commented on the pacing of the story, so it shall continue at the same speed. I'm sorry if you do not like the slow spots, but it has to be done.

Please review.


	8. Manhunt

Chapter 8: Manhunt

Daylight slipped through the cracks in the blinds, fracturing the silent dark within. A stream of it collided with the shape sleeping peacefully on the queen-sized bed. It had been shining on it for several hours. However, the beam only succeeded in affecting the shape when it shifted. Now the beam was happy. It had made first contact with an eyelid.

Wendy groaned. After a futile attempt to bat away the intangible illuminant, she grudgingly opened her eyes. She glanced up at the clock next to her bedside. It was only one in the afternoon. Way too early to get up. Working the night shift made this the equivalent of waking up at one in the morning.

Deciding that she wanted a warm body to snuggle against, she turned so she faced the other way. Blindly, she reached out for her living comforter…only to discover nothing. Her hand continued with grabby motions, the idea that she was alone still not penetrating her drowsy brain. Finally she opened her eyes.

Nothing. Empty. Alone. That wasn't right. She always woke up before Greg. Especially after a night like last night. They barely made it to the bedroom. Her announcement must have made him extremely happy because he dazzled her with his skills. He even knew the swirly thing. Whoever taught him that should get a million dollars or something. She actually beat him to the finish. That _never _happened. And if that didn't take the cake, he actually wanted to cuddle when they done.

The smile that appeared on her face didn't last long, though. She remembered that her man was supposed to be next to her. Now he wasn't. She should probably look for him. Damn. That would mean getting out of bed. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes fully. Looking around the room, she saw the shirt Greg wore last night. Grabbing it, she put it on. It covered her up…enough. Getting out of bed, she slowly made her way out of the bedroom and into the hall in order to hunt for her man.

After taking a few steps down the hall, she stopped. Music was coming from her guestroom/office. It wasn't very loud, nor was it Greg's usual choice. It sounded like…jazz! That wasn't good. Picking up her pace, she quickly made for the door. She opened it quickly and took in the sight before her.

Greg was sitting at her desk. His arms were folded on it, head resting on them. He was clad only in crimson boxers. The radio sat on a table not to far from him. Louis Armstrong was playing from it.

Tentatively, she stepped closer to him. Her vision cleared the chair a little, giving her more of a view. She could now see his back and the lightly faded scars that danced across it. When she first saw them, he was nervous. He wasn't ashamed of them. In fact, he joked about them. But she could tell he was still nervous of her reaction. She let him know that she didn't care. Everyone had scars.

A quiet sniffle reached her ears. A shudder suddenly shook his body. Was he…crying?

"Greg?" asked Wendy. "Is everything alright?"

Greg didn't jump or anything. He knew she was there. Slowly, he looked up. His eyes were puffy and red, tear stains were etched under them. He nodded his head.

"Yeah."

Wendy came closer and knelt down beside him. She placed her hand on his arm.

"Are you sure?"

He chuckled. "No." That answer made him giggle a little.

She looked at him, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Now a smile formed.

Wendy was starting to grow annoyed. "If nothing is wrong, then why are you sitting in here crying?"

Greg shrugged his shoulders, the smile faded. "Just thinking about stuff."

Her eyes drifted over to the radio. "About…Elicia?"

His eyes closed as he nodded again. "I used to like jazz. My mom would play it whenever she cleaned house. Beautiful Saturday mornings, curtains wide open, my mom dancing around with a mop or a duster as Miles Davis or Duke Ellington played in the background. She only did these deep cleans whenever Papa and Nana Olaf would visit. I knew whenever I woke up to that it was going to be a good day."

A tear dripped from his eye. Wendy continued to kneel next to him. She hadn't heard this story before. With her other hand, she wiped the tear away.

"I never listened to it on my own," he continued. "Someone else had to put it on. It always made me happy, though. I kind of wish someone played it in the lab." He took a deep breath. "Then I met Elicia. And she ruined it for me." His voice broke. He didn't break down, though.

Wendy knew now was the time to move. Shifting closer to him, she wrapped her arm around his back and pulled him into her.

"Why are you listening to it?" she asked.

He looked up, not at her but at the radio. His eyes hardened. "I want to like it again."

They sat there like that for a few minutes as the song finished and another began. Both were deep in thought. This was the first time they really talked about it. Before, Greg would just change the subject whenever it was brought up. This was quite the break through.

"Wendy?" he questioned.

She looked into his eyes. "Greg?"

"I think I would like to meet with Dr. Cross." he stated.

"Are you sure," she inquired. She didn't want him to do something he wasn't comfortable with.

"Yeah. Might be good to talk to someone about it."

Gazing into his eyes, she knew it wasn't an insult. If she could help, he would have asked her. Both knew she wasn't qualified. She was too involved. That was okay with her.

"Alright. I'll call him later. How about you come back to bed?"

He nodded. She helped him up from the chair and led him out of the room. Neither bothered with shutting off the radio.

* * *

Sara sat on the bed, watching some kind of daytime television show. Some chick had slept with a guy who was best friends with her husband's sister who also might be her son, twice removed. Yeah. She absentmindedly scratched the back of Hank's head. He, like her, was practically asleep from the mindless droll of the TV.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door. She listened as she heard Gil mutter from the kitchen and walk over to answer it. She muted the television.

"Sofia!" she heard him exclaim. "What can I help you with?"

Her curiosity peaked, Sara got out of bed and put her ear to the door.

"We think we've got a lead on the case. Figured you would like to know."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I tried. You didn't answer." When they got home this morning, Sara made him turn his cell phone off.

"Sorry about that. Well…thank you."

"Um. One thing."

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you would like to have lunch later. You are working this evening, right?"

"…Yes, I am. I suppose that would be fine." Sara scowled.

"Wonderful! Um…guess I'll see you later then."

"Goodbye, Sofia."

There was a pause and then the door shut. Sara opened the bedroom door and walked toward the main room. She saw that Gil had returned to the kitchen.

"Who was it?" she asked innocently.

He looked up at her. "Sofia. Said they have a break in the case. We should probably head in early."

"Yeah, your probably right." She turned to leave, only to stop. "Was that all?"

"Pretty much," he replied.

"Oh." Sara frowned as she returned to the bedroom to change.

* * *

It was hot in the bedroom. Even with every fan running, it still felt like a furnace. Lying on top of his bed, sheets thrown to the floor, was Nick. Sweat dripped from his naked body as he glared at the ceiling fan. He could turn on the AC, but that would run up his utilities bill. So he continued to glare, dark circles still under his eyes. It was only three in the afternoon, meaning he could still catch a few more hours of sleep. Taking a deep breath, he once again tried to close his eyes and think about anything other than the heat.

The phone rang.

"God damn it!" bellowed an angry Nick.

He grabbed his phone and violently opened it. "Hello?!"

"_Mr. Stokes?" _a woman's voice asked.

"Yes? What do you want?" he asked shortly.

"_Um…this is Miss McCabe."_

Nick's eyes widen. "Oh! Miss McCabe! I'm sorry! I was sleeping. That wasn't very…" He stopped as he heard her begin to chuckle.

"_I understand, Mr. Stokes. I forgot about your hours. I should have called later. Is this a bad time?"_

Nick swung his legs over the bed. "No, not at all. What can I do for you?"

"_I was just calling to let you know that I will be stopping by your work this evening. I have a few questions to ask some of our co-workers."_

"Tonight? Yeah, okay. Do know who to talk to?"

"_I have the list of contacts you provided with me. Will you be there?"_

"No. I have the night off."

"_That actually works out better. I know it can get awkward with these questions when the person in question is around."_

Nick laughed nervously. "Yeah."

"_Relax, Mr. Stokes. I have a good feeling about you. I'll call you when I have an update. Good day. "_

"Thanks. Bye." He hung up the phone and collapsed back on the bed. He was grateful that he told Grissom. Hopefully, he'll be able to persuade her.

When he had first informed his supervisor of what was going on, he took a little bit of satisfaction from the shock that registered on the older man's face. The man known for hiding his emotions had laid it all out. That was actually pretty cool.

After he finished explaining everything, Grissom had only nodded his head and agreed to assist Nick anyway he could. He also offered up some advice and also stated that he would keep Ecklie off his back about his hours. He was extremely relieved that he told him.

Maybe he should inform the others. He was sure Catherine would be supportive. Warrick probably would too. He wasn't ready to let them know yet, though. In case it didn't work out, he didn't want their sympathy. Hopefully, when Miss McCabe stopped over this evening, they would be out on assignment. He could call Grissom. Ask him to lend him a hand. Would he do that? Probably not. Grissom would just say that he should tell the others. Well, if he couldn't ask Grissom, might as well go higher.

"God," Nick began…

* * *

Brass sat in the driver seat as he led two squad cars to the address of one Michael Holt. Vartann was beside him in the passenger seat. He was talking through the radio to the other vehicle, giving them instructions on how to handle the situation. He knew that the car behind him held Officers Pritchard and Akers. He wasn't sure on the other car. They flew out of PD once they got the warrant. He never even saw who all was with this 'task force.'

He prayed that Holt was still in town. It had only been a few days since the robbery, but that was still enough time for the guy to skip town. Braun wasn't sure if the guy had been into work the previous night. Given the circumstances, however, it was understandable.

"When we get to the address, nobody moves until Captain Brass or myself says so," Vartann ordered through the receiver. "Suspect could be armed, so take precautions. No one fire unless given the order. Suspect is to apprehended without injury where possible."

Vartann looked at the captain. "Anything else?"

Bras shook his head. Vartann finished up the orders and replaced the receiver. They rode in silence as the sirens blared across the Las Vegas streets as they neared their destination. It was another five minutes until they reached the comfortable home in Henderson.

The three cars came to an abrupt stop and the officers poured out of the vehicles. When the area looked clear, Brass signaled for Akers and Pritchard to move around back. He nodded to Vartann. The detective signaled for the other two officers to follow him as he closed in on the front door. Brass stayed behind. He wasn't in a hurry to get close to the possibly hostile scenario.

Vartann quickly went up the front porch to the door. With his hand gun drawn, he pounded on the wood.

"Michael Holt! LVPD! We have a warrant for your arrest! Please step outside with your hands up!"

When nothing or nobody came, Vartann stepped out of the way. One of the other officers stepped up and kicked the door in. The three swarmed inside. After a quick sweep of the living room and foyer, they realized these room were secure. Movement out of the corner of his eye made Vartann look toward the kitchen. Akers and Pritchard stalked into view.

"Kitchen and pantry are clear," Akers said.

"Dining room's clear," supplied another officer.

Vartann pointed up. "Akers, Prichard. Upstairs. You two, see if there is a basement. I'll check the garage."

The group split up. Akers followed Prichard up the stair case. On the landing, they divided. As he walked toward the closest bedroom, Prichard continued down the hall.

Back downstairs, Vartann saw that a car was still in the garage. That hopefully meant Holt was still home. Turning around, he went back toward the main room. Brass had entered at this point and nodded toward the detective.

"Anything?"

Vartann shook his head. The other two officers reappeared. They both shook their heads as well.

"What about upstairs?" asked Brass.

"They're checking…" he was interrupted as a shot rang out.

Brass and Vartann ran up the stair, guns still drawn. On the landing, they saw Akers had stopped dead. His gun was pointed to the end of the hall.

"Pritchard?" shouted Brass.

"I'm all right," came the reply. "It's clear."

The two detectives holstered their guns and walked toward the room at the end of the hall. They both stopped when they looked inside.

Pritchard was standing with a smoking gun over the body of Michael Holt. A Beretta was resting in the dead man's hand.

"What happened?" questioned Vartann. "You had orders not to shoot him!"

"With all due respect sir," replied Pritchard. "He had a gun and was about to fire. I felt my life was in danger."

"Great," stated Vartann.

"Everyone clear the house," yelled Brass. "Wait for CSI to get here and process the scene." Hopefully this wasn't another dead end.

* * *

It was now after five when Wendy stirred awake. Again. This time, however, she was pleased to see Greg sleeping soundly next to her. Now everything was how it should be. She carefully extracted herself from the bed and tiptoed out of the room. She wasn't sure how long Greg had been awake earlier and she wanted him to get a decent amount of sleep.

Walking down the hall, she paused at the sound of music. She forgot that she left the radio on. After shutting off the contraption, she traveled onward to the kitchen. Placing a bag of coffee on the counter, she started to brew a pot. She then went over to the phone and the purse next to it. A noise of satisfaction escaped her throat as she pulled out the business card from her bag. She dialed the number.

"_This is Dr. Cross."_

"Dr. Cross? Good morning…er… afternoon. This is Wendy Simms.

"_Miss Simms! Hello! What can I do for you?"_

"Well, I talked to Greg. He says it's okay to meet you."

"_He did? Wonderful! Uh…where…"_ Silence. She raised an eyebrow. _"Sorry. When would you like to meet?'_

"You're the one with the appointment book."

"_Right. Um… hm…" _More silence. _"Are either of you working this evening?"_

"Yes. We both are."

"_How about I stop by. It might make the two of you more comfortable."_

'And it might make you uncomfortable,' thought Wendy. She developed a devious gleam in her eye. "That sounds alright. I'd wait till the morning though, if you don't mind. In case he has to go out in the field, he should be back by then. Try around five-ish ."

"_Yeah! Great! Okay, I'll see you then."_

After she hung up, Wendy laughed. The guy was either new or just extremely nervous. She could have fun with him.

* * *

A/N: More thank you's to those who reviewed! I really do appreciate it.

I received a question I wanted to address. Just to clarify: The major characters of the story are Catherine, Warrick, Nick, Greg, Wendy, Brass and Sofia. Other major characters are: Vartann, Sam Braun, Jeff McKeen and Tina Brown. With an ensemble this large, it'll be hard to give everyone scene time. I will do my best to make sure that everyone's favorite character is given justice. (Grissom isn't a main but he will still have a presence. He is Grissom after all. Sorry about Sara, but I have trouble writing her.)

I will be very happy for any spare reviews you have lying around.


	9. Seeds of Doubt

Chapter 9: Seeds of Doubt

The night had only just begun at the Rampart when Catherine walked in. It was only after eleven and crowds of gamblers lined the street outside and the hallways within. It was a Friday night after all and people had paychecks to squander. These people had no idea what might be going on in the city around them. Then again, neither did the customers at the Tangiers a few nights ago.

Catherine brushed a lock of hair behind her ear as she strode through the main lobby. Her head was held high, while her walk held a sense of defiance in her confident steps. The casino employees who knew of her, got out of her way. If the look on her face wasn't enough to make them back off, the knowledge of her friendship with the boss was.

She made her way to one of the elevators and pushed the button for the top floor. While she waited for the lift, she thought back to the events earlier this evening.

**One Hour Earlier:**

Catherine walked into the break room, ready for the nights assignments. She hadn't heard anything new concerning the Tangiers Case so she figured she would get something else. She wasn't very keen on meeting with Braun again so soon. She still had a few issues to work through.

She was a little surprised to see Sara already there. The brunette had worked the previous night when she had off. One thing everyone knew about Sara Sidle, though, was that she was a workaholic. Almost as bad Grissom. It was amazing how similar the two of them were.

"Hey," she greeted.

Sara looked up. "Hey," she replied. She didn't seem very happy.

"You okay?" Catherine questioned.

"What? Oh…yeah," came the reply. A fake smile appeared on Sara's face. "Just a little tired is all."

"Fair enough. Want some coffee?"

"No thanks. Got some already." Sara pointed to the Styrofoam cup in front of her.

Catherine nodded her head. She poured herself a cup, then smelled the brown liquid. A frown formed on her face.

"Greg isn't here yet, is he?"

Sara gave a genuine smile. "Not yet."

Their small talk was interrupted by the arrival of a disheveled looking Warrick. It looked like he just crawled out of bed. His clothes were wrinkly and he hadn't shaved, at least not very well.

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Tough night?"

Catherine remained silent as Warrick's eyes darted in her direction before focusing on Sara.

"The old lady and I got into it. Slept on the couch. She didn't bother to give me an alarm clock when she left this afternoon. Woke up like thirty minutes ago"

Warrick drudged over to the coffee pot. Catherine quickly moved away from him. It wasn't certain if he took notice or not. After pouring himself a cup of the brown sludge, he walked over to the table and sat down. Catherine continued to hover somewhere between the table and the counter.

Sara noticed the thick tension that settled over the room. She was about to question the situation, when laughter from out in the hall seemed to break it. Three pairs of eyes watched as Wendy walked past the room toward DNA and Greg entered, large smile on his face. He didn't seem to notice anything weird.

"Hey guys. Everybody have a nice day? Is that coffee? Great! I had like three cups before I left but I could still go for some. I don't know, guess I'm in the mood. Eck! Who made this? Tastes like crap! I mean really nasty shit! I bet it was Hodges. Guy can't make coffee if his life depended on it. Grissom here yet? Hey Sara! How was work last night? Anything interesting happen?"

The other three occupants of the room just stared as Greg continued to ramble on. Catherine almost lunged forward to prevent him from adding sugar to his coffee. Too late. She prayed she wasn't partnered with him tonight. She wasn't sure if she could handle an overactive Greg. She was spared from having to duct tape his mouth shut when Grissom walked into the room.

"Good, you're all here. I've just returned from our latest crime scene. An address in Henderson. Owner is a Michael Holt."

Warrick furrowed his brow. "Holt… Wait. Wasn't he the guy who was in security at the Tangiers?"

Grissom nodded. "Yes, he was. It looks like he was involved."

"What happened?" Warrick asked.

"Brass went to question him. However, there appears to have been an altercation and he was shot by one of the officers on the scene. Brass will provide us with his official report when their done getting the officer's statement."

"So where does that leave us?" Sara questioned.

"I want Warrick and Greg to go back to the scene. It hasn't been processed yet, pending Brass's report. I want you two to search attic to basement for anything that can link this to anyone else. This wasn't a hit so hopefully Mr. Holt didn't have time to hide any evidence. Sara, head over to PD. I want you with Brass."

Catherine wasn't sure where she was going to fit in. "What about me, Grissom?"

The older man looked her dead in the eyes. "I need you to speak with Sam."

She blinked. That was something she really didn't want to do. "Gil. Why…?"

"Holt was his head of security at the Tangiers. He might know something."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He continued to stare back at her. She could hear the unspoken conversation perfectly.

"_I want you to go because of your link to Sam. Yes, I am exploiting you."_

"Fine."

"Excellent. Well…" he trailed off, waiting for the four to get a move on.

Greg turned to Warrick. "Hey, can I drive? You guys never let me drive. Why is that? This coffee really does suck. Do we have time to hit a Starbucks or something? There's this little café that shouldn't be too far out of the way…" he continued to ramble as he walked down the hall.

Warrick groaned as he glanced back at his supervisor. Grissom only gave him a reassuring smile.

After Catherine left the room, Grissom looked over to Sara. She had just thrown her coffee cup away and was turning to leave. She walked past him without a word. Grissom watched her, once again confused.

**Present**:

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened. Catherine quickly exited from the lift and made her way to the office of Mr. Sam Braun. She knocked but didn't bother to wait for an answer as she let herself in.

Sam was sitting behind his desk. Standing in front of him was a middle-aged man wearing dark clothes. Not a suit, but still nicely dressed. He looked to be of Middle Eastern descent. Both men looked over at the sound of the intrusion. The man scowled while Sam smiled.

"Catherine," Sam greeted. He then turned to the man in front of him. "Excuse us."

The man nodded. As he walked by Catherine, he eyed her suspiciously. She was only to grateful to return the look. Once they were alone, Sam stood up from behind the desk and motioned for his daughter to join him on the couch.

As she took her seat, she addressed Sam. "I'm familiar with most of your employees. I don't think I've seen him before."

Sam shrugged. "Amon is just an old acquaintance of mine. Haven't seen him in a few years and he was in Vegas for the weekend. Nothing to worry about. Just two old friends getting together."

Immediate warning alarms sounded in her head. Her mother had always told stories of Sam and his friends. Never did she mention an Amon. Something was up.

"Sam, tell me about Michael Holt," Catherine inquired.

The old man's smile disappeared. "Is he involved?"

She didn't want to give him too much information. "He is a person of interest. How long has he worked at the Tangiers?"

Sam's face remained stoic. "About eight years. He started out in garage security, I believe. He proved to be a valuable asset and he moved up. If he is involved, I cannot think of a reason why."

"No reason whatsoever? He wasn't past up for a promotion? A raise? Did he get a pay cut?"

"I always treat my employees with the same respect I expect from them."

"How was his personal life?" she asked.

He frowned. "Catherine, you know I don't pry into the lives my people."

Time to reveal her hand and see his reaction. "Sam, several officers went to pick up Mr. Holt this afternoon. I'm not sure of the details, but he's dead. Apparently he was armed."

She was momentarily taken aback when a dark look crossed over his face. It was actually a little bit frightening.

"So," Sam began. "Holt was involved. That son of bitch!"

The furious old man rose from the couch and walked over to the window. If the city could have been incinerated from one look, Sam's would have done the trick. After an apparent attempt to make Caesar's Palace burst into flame, he closed his eyes. A deep breath swept through his entire body. Several minutes ticked by until he opened them again. He turned back to his daughter.

"Catherine, I swear on your mother, I had absolutely nothing to do with the robbery. I had no idea any of this was going to happen. But I promise you, I will use every available resource to assist you and bring these bastards to justice." Sam spoke these words gentle at first. By the end, however, his tone was laced with cold fury.

Catherine stared at the man. She had never seen him like this before. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she was truly afraid. She looked away from him and down at her hands. They were shivering.

"I…uh. I need a drink," she stammered. Getting off the couch she made her to the door. Sam's voice stopped her.

"I can have something brought up, Muggs."

His tone had changed. It was now the usual voice he used when addressing her or her mother. This left her feeling further unsettled.

"No. I need to go. Give me a few minutes." Opening up the door she stepped outside. She missed the look of concern that was given to her from her father.

Out in the hall, Catherine ran a hand through her hair. She just needed a few moments to compose herself and figure out what exactly happened in there. Something was being said, but she missed it.

Suddenly, she felt as though she were being watched. Opening her eyes, she looked down the corridor. The dark man was standing next to a potted plant, smoking a cigarette. He continued to eye the redhead as he released wisp of smoke.

* * *

Jim Brass sat inside the interrogation room at LVPD. Next to him was Sofia Curtis. Both were looking across the table at Officer Daniel Pritchard. The man was slumped in his chair, looking almost bored. This irritated the detective.

"Alright," Brass started. "Let's have it from the beginning."

Pritchard blinked. "After you signaled for Officer Akers and myself to go around back, we did. We got to the kitchen door and we went inside."

"Was it unlocked?" Sofia cut in.

His eyes shifted to her. "Yeah. I tried the door, saw it was open and we both went in. After clearing the kitchen and dining room, we regrouped with Detective Vartann in the front room."

"Then what?" asked Brass.

"Vartann ordered the two of us to check upstairs. I took point with Akers behind me. Once we reached the landing, we split off. Akers went toward the bedrooms nearest the stairs, while I went down the hall to clear the master. I saw the door was ajar and I held my gun at the ready. I walked into the room and saw the suspect standing with his back to me. I ordered him to raise his hands and turn around slowly. As he did, I saw that he was carrying. I shouted for him to drop it. Instead he raised it toward me. I think you know the rest." Finishing his statement, Pritchard leaned back into his chair confidently.

Brass glowered at the man. "Did you see any other action you could have used to disarm him?"

"I felt my life was in danger. I took the appropriate action."

'You could have just as easily disarmed him without killing him." stated Sofia.

Pritchard shot a look toward the woman. "I'm sorry, _Detective._ You weren't there. Do you know what its like to have a gun pointed at you? This isn't some chemistry set. This is real life."

Sofia tightened her jaw, but didn't respond.

Brass sneered at the man. "Do _not _speak that way to Detective Curtis, Pritchard! You're on leave until further notice. You're dismissed."

After the officer left the room, Brass looked at his partner. "What do you think?"

Sofia brushed a few hairs away from her eyes. "Guys a prick. I think something was off, though."

Brass nodded his head. "I agree. He was too calm. Like this was all beneath him. We'll have to see if his story checks out."

Further away in a less intimidating room, sat Detective Vartann and Officer Akers.

"Alright, Andy. What happened after you two split up?" Vartann inquired.

"I went into the nearest bedroom and cleared it," the young officer answered. "I was just going back into the hall, when I heard Officer Pritchard shout for someone to turn around and raise their hands. Then I heard someone else say something. I couldn't make out what it was though. Then Pritchard told him to drop his weapon. That was followed with more talking by the suspect. Then I heard a gunshot. I immediately froze and raised my weapon. I wasn't sure who fired, so I held my ground, waiting to came out of the room. Then you came up the stairs and… well, you know."

Vartann nodded. "You did good to stay where you were. Are you sure that you couldn't hear what the suspect was saying?"

"Yes. He was talking to low."

"Thanks Andy, that's all."

Akers stood from his chair and left the room. Vartann finished up his notes and went to join Brass and Sofia.

Walking down the hall, he saw Sara Sidle waiting next to the room Brass was in. He slowed next to Sara.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey," he returned. "I'm assuming Brass is finished."

Sara shrugged. "I guess so. Pritchard just left. You got anything?"

"Akers wasn't able to see what happened. Wish he heard what the suspect said, though."

"The suspect said something?"

Both looked up as the door opened and the two detectives stepped out. Sofia had been the one to ask the question.

"According to Akers' statement, he heard someone talking to Pritchard."

Brass frowned. "He neglected to say that in his testimony."

"How about the crime scene?" Sara asked.

The captain looked over at her. "Huh? Oh, yeah… You guys can go ahead and process it. See if everything matches with Pritchard's statement."

* * *

Warrick was extremely grateful that Greg had a high metabolism. This made his caffeine/sugar crash occur all the more swiftly. After an hour and a half of none stop chatter, Greg finally closed his trap. The younger man was currently in the kitchen, slowly thumbing his way through a pile of mail that was left on the counter top. Warrick had just finished with the living room was about to go upstairs to process the primary scene.

Once he reached the top landing, he made his way to the master bedroom down the hall. David had already carted the body off for autopsy, even though they knew what the cause of death was. As he entered the room, he immediately looked down at the blood stained carpet and the gun lying next to it. Setting his kit down beside him he bent over to pick up the gun.

The Beretta was in pretty good condition. It must have been cleaned recently. Picking out a jar of powder, Warrick began dusting the gun. After a few minutes of carefully checking the weapon, he frowned. Prints had shown up, but something seemed off.

"Hey Sanders!" he shouted out the door, hoping it would reach downstairs.

"What?" came the reply.

"Come up here, would ya!"

He shook is head as heard footsteps ascending the staircase, accompanied by low grumblings. The kid could really be grouchy when he was tired.

"What do you want?" Greg asked as he entered the bedroom.

Warrick held up the gun. "What do you see?"

Greg took the offered weapon and examined it. He turned it over in his hands, looking carefully at the fingerprints.

"There's prints on the handle but none on the trigger."

"Exactly," said Warrick.

After handing the gun back, Greg scratched his head. "According to Sara, Pritchard said that Holt held the gun in his hand, almost like he was going to fire."

Warrick nodded. "If that were so, than he would have had his finger on the trigger."

"So, what does that mean?" Greg questioned.

Warrick didn't respond. He stared thoughtfully at the weapon. Finally, he bagged the gun and stood up.

"I'm heading back to the lab. I want to see the autopsy report. Can you handle the rest of this?" Warrick punctuated the question with a wave of his hand.

Greg sighed. "Yeah. I guess so."

"Great. I'll have Sara come by to get you."

Grabbing his kit and the gun, Warrick quickly descended the stairs and was out the door. Greg turned back to the room and sighed again.

"I hope she brings me some coffee…"

* * *

Grissom sat in his office, quietly reviewing the report sent over by Brass. He read through it twice and agreed with Brass's comments on it. Something didn't align between Pritchard's and Akers' statements.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. With all of his team out in the field, it could only be a lab tech. 'Better not be Hodges,' thought Grissom.

"Come in," he shouted at the door.

He was surprised to see someone he didn't know. A tall, black woman walked into the office. Her dark hair was cut short and she wore it very professionally. The woman had on a dark grey business suit with matching heels.

"Dr. Grissom?" she asked.

"Yes?'

"I'm Mari McCabe. I'm from…"

"Oh, yes," Grissom interrupted, his eyes lightening. "Nick told me you might be stopping by."

Ms. McCabe smiled. "So Mr. Stokes did tell you. I wasn't sure if he had let anyone know. He was very hesitant with supplying me a list of friends and colleagues."

"I think he's just being cautious," stated Grissom. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you," She replied as she took a seat. "You obviously know why I'm here. I've looked though Mr. Stokes' records and he appears to be a very hardworking and trustworthy individual."

"Yes. Nick has always been one of the best colleagues I've worked with. He's also the most caring."

"Wonderful. I do have two questions, though. These pertain to a couple of 'incidents' that appeared."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

"He has recently recovered from a very traumatic experience. Can you tell me if that has effected him in anyway? Has he taken on any negative traits?"

The older man removed his glasses. "There have been no issues that I've seen. If anything, he has become more empathetic with the people we come across. I believe he is seeing a therapist, as well."

Miss McCabe nodded her head and wrote something down on her notepad. "Yes, I'll talk to Mr. Stokes about that later. I wouldn't call empathy a negative side effect, though."

"In this line of work, it's best not to get to emotionally involved," Grissom stated.

A small smile formed on her face. However, it soon disappeared. "Alright, what can you tell me about Kristy Hopkins."

Grissom frowned. "I don't believe that that is on his record."

The woman remained stoic. "We do very thorough background checks, Dr. Grissom. Especially in these circumstances. Can you please answer the question."

"Kristy was a friend of Nick's. Yes, she was a prostitute, and yes, he did sleep with her. However, he was off duty and there was no money exchanged. It was unsolicited. Her murder impacted him deeply."

"Hm. Thank you for your time, Doctor." Miss McCabe stood from her chair and shook hands with Grissom. "Can you tell me if Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, or Sara Sidle are here?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, they're all out on assignment at the moment."

She nodded. "Thank you again" she then turned and left the office.

Grissom blinked, frown still on his face. He wasn't sure if that helped Nick or not.

* * *

A/N: This chapter has been edited to solve an oversight on my part. Hopefully, it works better.


	10. Chance Encounters

Chapter 10: Chance Encounters

It was around one in the morning when Greg opened the refrigerator door. His droopy eyes darted back and forth as he scanned the shelves. He didn't even register the sound of footsteps behind him.

"I don't think you'll find any evidence in there."

Greg turned around and glared at the amused smile on Sara's face. However, his glare shifted to a big smile when he saw the two lidded cups in her hands.

"Coffee?" he asked hopefully.

Her smile grew as she held out one of the cups.

"Thank God! Sara, I love you!" Greg exclaimed as he snatched up the offered brew.

"I'm sure Wendy will be pleased to know that," Sara remarked.

He ignored her comment as he took several sips from the cup. After releasing a contented sigh, he placed the coffee next to his field kit on the counter.

Sara placed her's next to it. "So, how's it coming?"

Greg shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. I bagged a few things for Trace and found a few suspicious letters in the mail. Don't know what they mean, though. If anything. I also grabbed his laptop. I was about to look…" he trailed off.

"When you decided to raid the fridge?" Sara finished. Greg blushed. "Let's have a look."

After they booted up the computer, they were surprised when it went directly to the home screen. It appeared the security chief didn't much care for security. They browsed through his files for several minutes, unable to find anything substantial."

"Can you check his bank account?" asked Greg.

"Should be able to. Brass was able to supply me with most of Holt's personal information." Sara replied.

Several moments passed until both were looking at the screen in disbelief. Greg closed his mouth long enough to form a question.

"How much did you say was stolen from the Tangiers?"

"Not _that _much," Sara responded.

The screen showed a recent deposit of five-hundred thousand dollars. The money appeared to have been transferred from a business account: Desmond Industrial.

Greg frowned. "Desmond Industrial. I've seen that name."

Greg quickly walked over to the fridge. Looking quickly through the cards and restaurant forms attached to the front of the door, his hand shot out and grabbed a small business card.

"Desmond Industrial. According to the address, it's in Cincinnati, Ohio."

"We should get this back to the lab," Sara stated.

* * *

Warrick got out of his vehicle and quickly jogged up to the front entrance of the lab. After briefly stopping to hold open the door for an attractive woman in a grey suit who was exiting the building, he practically ran to autopsy. Various lab employees had to evade the sprinting man. Finally, he arrived outside the autopsy room. He quickly donned a lab coat before going into the chilled room.

He saw that the body of Michael Holt had already been wheeled in, but it didn't appear that an autopsy had been performed. Good. A noise came from the desk situated in the far left of the room. Looking over, he noticed the Assistant Coroner, David Phillips, typing away.

"Hey David," Warrick greeted.

David looked up. "Oh, hello. Doctor Robbins isn't here yet. He should be here soon, though. Then we'll begin the autopsy."

"That's cool." Warrick was glad he hadn't missed it. He wasn't too keen on the actual cutting and probing of the body, but he had a question that needed to be answered. Hopefully the Doc would be in soon.

Warrick walked over and stood next to the desk. David had already gone back to typing on the keyboard.

"So, Dave. How's everything going with the wedding?"

The coroner didn't look up. "Pretty good. She wants to meet with a wedding planner. Apparently she has some sort of 'wedding of her dreams' idea that she wants to enact. All I can say is, thank God the bride's side pays."

Warrick smiled. "Yeah. Count your blessings, man. You don't know how many you'll have left."

David looked up at the cryptic statement. He was about to ask what Warrick meant, when the double doors swung open. Al Robbins moseyed over to where the body was.

"Warrick," the man greeted. "Alright, David. Let's begin."

Both coroners walked over to the cutting table that the corpse rested on. Warrick cautiously moved closer to them. Robbins pulled back the sheet revealing the upper torso. After putting his glasses on, the older man examined the head wound.

"Gun shot wound to forehead. Single shot. Appears to have penetrated the frontal bone." Robbins stopped to lift the head up and turn it to the side. He ran his fingers over the back of the head. "Doesn't appear to be an exit wound. David, scalpel."

After his assistant handed him the tool, Robbins began to scalp the man. Warrick cringed slightly as skin from the forehead was pulled back. The doctor stuck his finger into the hole.

"Hm. Doesn't appear to be any fracturing. I'll have to take a look at the brain. David, shave it."

"Doc," Warrick cut in. "I think I'll be outside. Call me when your ready. Can you check for any signs of GSR while you're at it?"

"Sure thing." Robbins smiled as he watched the CSI walk out of the room.

Warrick didn't wait long until he was called back in. The body was covered up, except for the head. The top of the skull had been sliced open and the brain was removed. It was resting in a dish at the top of the table.

"You ready, 'Rick?" Robbins asked.

Warrick nodded. "Give it to me."

"As you can guess, COD was a single gunshot to the forehead. The bullet shot through the frontal bone and penetrated the brain, where it got stuck here in the parietal lobe." Robbins accented his statement by holding up the brain and pointing near the back of it. He then set down the brain and picked up a separate dish with something metal in it. "I retrieved the bullet. Looks like a 9mm."

After glancing at the bullet, Warrick nodded. "That's consistent with standard police issued firearms."

"I'll have it sent to Bobby for verification," the doctor continued. "Now, looking at the damage done to the frontal bone but the lack of an exit wound suggests that the shooter had to have been standing several feet away from the vic."

"Well, according to Pritchard's statement, he was standing close to the doorway while Holt was near the center of the room."

Robbins nodded. "I checked for GSR as you requested. The only place I found some was on the victim's right hand."

"His right hand? You sure?" questioned the CSI.

Warrick received a raised eyebrow in return.

"Right," replied Warrick. "Thanks Doc."

The man quickly left the lab and made for the staircase. Only minutes later, he found himself entering Trace.

"Hodges, what have you got for me?" Warrick declared.

The trace tech let out an irritated sigh. "I don't remember paging you."

"Cut the crap and give me your results."

Hodges raised an eyebrow sarcastically. "Testy are we? Trouble with the wife?"

"Hodges…" Warrick growled.

"Alright, alright. Your vic's shirt was clean. Well, except for a problem with dandruff. The bottom of his pant legs and his shoes had small amounts of GSR, though. The gun, however, was clear of any residue except on the handle."

Warrick lifted his head in thought. "GSR on his hand and the lower part of his body. That would mean…after the gun was fired, the powder shot forward and settled at an angle. The only way…" His statement went unfinished as he left to one of the empty labs. Hodges watched him, confused.

After five minutes and no sign of Brown, Hodges' curiosity got the better of him. He went out to find the man. It didn't take him long. Warrick was bent over a table, looking at a diagram with various lines and mathematical equations on it.

"What have you got there?" the tech asked.

"According to Pritchard, when Holt turned around, he had his weapon drawn. Hodges, pretend to point a gun at me."

Hodges narrowed his eyes, but went along with the request. He lifted his arm up at the elbow and stuck out his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes." added Warrick. "I thought that too. However, based on the angle of the falling gunshot residue, the hand never would have gotten any GSR on it. The only way for that to happen, would have been if he had his arm stretched out all the way. If Holt had turned around while holding the gun, then he would have had it close in like what you did. It keeps the weapon balanced in case he needs to fire quickly."

"But, there was no GSR on the gun," Hodges broke in.

"I don't think he was holding the gun."

"What?"

"The fingerprints we found only show up on the handle, which is how the body was found. The gun was only resting on the palm of his hand. It had to have been planted there."

"But that means…" Hodges said as his eyes widened.

"Yeah, I know." Warrick stated. Without a word, he left the lab to find Grissom.

* * *

Grissom quietly walked down the halls and over to the break room. It was just about lunch time and he was pretty hungry. He was pleased to see the break room empty. Nothing like a quiet meal.

He had just made his way over to the office fridge, when he suddenly heard his name being called. Great. Slightly annoyed, he looked up. He was surprised and a little relieved to see Sofia walk into the room.

"Sofia, nice to see you."

"Gil. Still up for lunch?"

Grissom blinked. "Sure."

"Great! I bought," she stated as she held up a large bag. "You like Indian food?"

Feeling his stomach grumble, Grissom smiled. "Yes, I do."

Setting the bag down on the table, Sofia, pulled out to boxes. "Which would you prefer, Mattar Paneer or Lamb Tikka?"

Grissom sat down in one of the chairs. "Mattar Paneer, please." He watched, thoughtfully,as the blond set out his food. "You know, unlike most forms of cheese, paneer doesn't use rennet as a coagulant. This allows Hindu vegetarians to eat it."

Sofia smiled as she handed him the dish. "I've always wanted to ask you where you get your information."

A smile crept across his face. "What, you don't like it?"

"It seems random. I honestly don't know where you get all this knowledge. I like to think I'm smart, but you know some really obscure things." Sofia said as she sprinkled some seasonings over her lamb.

"I read about the paneer in a magazine that was lying around the break room one day. I didn't have any reading material, so…" Grissom shrugged with a sly smile.

Sofia giggled. "Nice. So, tell me how everything is in the lab."

"What would you like to know?"

"How's it been with Ecklie?" she inquired.

Grissom swallowed the piece of paneer and the couple of peas that were in his mouth. "Actually, things have been working out pretty well. He seems to have backed off. I think what happened to Nick effected him in someway. For the better."

Sofia looked down at her food. "Oh."

Had Ecklie really changed his mentality? If she had stayed, would he had given her the supervisory position on swing? The position was coming open when she left. Did she leave too soon? Her mother always said she was too impulsive.

"Sofia?" Grissom asked, concern in his voice.

"Hm?"

"I asked how everything was down at PD."

Sofia blushed. "Oh! Um, okay. Actually, not okay. This is going to sound childish, but I don't feel like I'm fitting in."

"Bell?" Grissom asked.

Sofia nodded. "That was just the trigger. I feel that they don't respect me. I was a cop for five years before taking up forensics. I graduated fourth at the academy. But taking up science automatically renders that null and void. Did you know how disappointed my mother was when I told her? She still brings it up to this day. Never mind how many assholes I helped put away while carrying the science kit." She stopped to take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Gil. I didn't come here to bitch."

Grissom gave her a warm smile. "Everyone needs an outlet. I'm sure the thing with Elicia Morgan was hard also."

She shrugged. "Honestly, that wasn't so bad." She smiled at the confusion written on his face. "I'm actually pretty well conditioned with the idea of getting hurt on the job. People talking behind my back, however..."

"I"m sure it'll get better," Grissom responded.

The blond looked him in the eyes. "So, who's your outlet?"

More confusion appeared on his face. "Excuse me?"

She smiled. "What do you do as a release?"

The older man coughed. "I enjoy insects."

A chuckle escaped her lips. "I don't mean _bugs_, Gil. You said it yourself. Everyone needs an outlet. Who is yours?"

Grissom stared back into the blue eyes that were trying to penetrate into his soul. "Sofia…" he whispered.

Footsteps from outside made the duo jump. They looked up as Sara walked into the room. His face was emotionless, stone-like even. She was glancing between the two at the table. Finally her eyes settled on Grissom.

"Hey, Greg and I found something you might be interested in. Detective Curtis," she supplied as a greeting.

"Sara," the blonde returned.

Sara walked closer to the table. "Oh, paneer. You know, some Indian's actually make Mattar without paneer. Tofu has a similar texture and works fine as a replacement."

Sofia cocked an eyebrow as Grissom smiled at the comment.

"Hey, Gris!" Warrick shouted from the doorway.

"Yes, Warrick?"

"I have something you might want to see. Sofia, you should probably see this also."

"Alright," Grissom agreed. Sofia followed him out the door. Sara stayed behind, eying the two meals. A frown was set firmly on her face.

* * *

Nick pulled his truck up into the parking lot. It was just after five, hopefully Miss McCabe had already stopped by. He was hoping to find out what Grissom had said to her. He was also praying that she didn't talk to anyone else.

As he stepped into the main lobby, Nick saw the receptionist, Judy Tremont , behind the visitor's desk. After as few quick strides, Nick was directly in front of her.

"Morning, Judy." He gave her his best smile. He was pleased to see her blush a little.

"Nick! Good morning. Is there something I can help you with?" she asked shyly.

He nodded. "I was wondering if a Mari McCabe came by last night?"

Judy looked through her folder of visitors. "Yes. She arrived at around twelve-thirty. Did you need to see her?"

"No. Do you know how long she stayed?"

The woman shook her head. "Only about a half-hour. She requested to speak to Dr. Grissom. I don't know what it was about."

'I do,' Nick thought. He gave her another grin. "Thanks, Judy"

She stammered out a reply as Nick turned around…only to run into a man who was standing behind him. His eyes widened when the auburn-haired man fell to the ground.

"Damn! Are you alright, man?" Nick asked, concerned. He held out a hand to help the man up.

The stranger took it gratefully. "Yeah. I'm fine. I shouldn't have been standing so close."

The guy looked at Nick and blinked several times. He didn't let go of his hand. Nick cocked an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Huh! Oh, yes. I'm sure" He let go of Nick's hand and brushed off his suit.

"Alright then. Again, sorry about." Nick then started to walk down the hall.

"Oh!" the man shouted after him. "Do you work here?"

Nick stopped and turned his head. "Yeah."

"Do you know Greg Sanders or Wendy Simms?"

At those names, Nick stiffened. His eyes narrowed at the man. "I do."

"Great! Can you tell them that I'm here."

Nick turned toward him fully. "And you are?"

A blush crept across his face. "I'm sorry. Names Pete…um…Peter! Dr. Peter. Cross. Dr. Peter Cross!"

Nick chuckled. "Alright, Dr. Peter Cross. I'll tell them you're here."

Dr. Cross continued to watch as Nick walked down the hall.

Luckily, Greg was in DNA. He was just receiving the results of the blood pool from the house. Like he didn't know it was from Holt. Wendy stood nearby, eyes glued to her computer screen as Greg read her printout. Neither noticed as Nick walked into the lab.

"Hey. You two have a visitor," Nick stated sharply. His eyes were dark. "A Dr. Cross. He's in the lobby." Without another word, the Texan left.

Greg looked over at Wendy and frowned. "You know, he's really starting to piss me off."

"You and me both," she agreed. "When are you going to talk to him?"

"I'm waiting for the right moment. It's not very professional to walk up to your co-worker and say 'Nick, why are you being a prick.' I'm not sure Grissom would be fond of that."

Wendy nodded. "Well, you better do something soon, otherwise I might have to. And I _like_ Nick."

"Me too!" Greg defended. "At least, I did. Why is Cross here now? Isn't it kind early for them normal folk."

The tech shrugged her shoulders. "Hey, all I did was make the call. He set the time. If he wants to get up at the crack of dawn, fine for him."

Greg made a grand gesture with his hand, signaling his lady to follow. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Wendy smiled.

Greg followed as she led the way to the lobby. He wasn't looking forward to this.

* * *

A/N: I was originally going to title this chapter with a clever pun involving GSR, since this chapter does include both meanings of the phrase. Decided against it though. I'm already toying with the 'sacred' Grissom/Sara romance. I figured it was best not to antagonize. For the record, I don't have any real problem with it. My only problem is with how serious some take it. Again, I mean no offense.

You're going to probably find this funny. While I'm busy messing with GSR, sticking Greg and Wendy together, and making Nick play for the other team, I'm obsessing with canon. I spent way to long trying to figure out when David was married,when the others found out, etc. I originally was going to have Warrick and him discuss marriage. Come to find out, HE'S NOT MARRIED AT THIS TIME! I was very put off. Oh well. Also, I'm not a doctor or a scientist. I have no idea the specifics of the human body. If the autopsy was incorrect, I apologize. the same goes with the evidence. Warrick's theory sounded accurate, but I'm not a criminologist.

Just so you know, Dr. Cross isn't incompetent. I wanted that to be clear before you start to think less of him. You'll get to see him in full psychiatrist mode in the next chapter. He's just a little...quirky.

Major shout out to Happyharper 13.

And please, PLEASE review. I need them to live.


	11. Ares Ascendant

Chapter 11: Ares Ascendant

Wendy noticed suddenly that something was off. The lobby was just ahead, right around the curve in the hall. She slowed and realized what was wrong. There was supposed to be someone with her. She turned her head and glanced behind her. No one. She sighed. Silently, she began to retrace her steps. It wasn't too far, fortunately.

"Greg?" she asked into the empty lab that the man suddenly found interesting.

She was met with deep, brown eyes. Eyes that resembled those of a frightened child. Concern and something else flooded her senses.

"Greg?" she repeated. "Is everything alright?"

"I…I'm not sure I can do it," Greg whispered. "I know that I said I'd give it a try, but…"

Wendy walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to, you know. I can just tell Dr. Cross to go away."

Greg looked away from her. "I know that I should. I just…do you know what he's going to ask?"

Confused at the question, Wendy shook her head.

"I do. After the explosion, the lab sent a shrink over to 'talk' to me. All she did was ask how I felt about it. How I felt about Catherine. She made me relive something I would just as soon forget."

His words took on a dark flavor a he spoke. It startled her with it's intensity. That was something that always stunned her. The man who always seemed so happy, so bright, had such a serious and forceful underside. In a way, it reminded her of the yin-yang. The white shape with the small, black spot.

"I wouldn't think any less of you, Greg," Wendy softly stated. "What happened, happened. It's in the past, and if that's where you want it to stay, then that's where it will stay. It's your call."

Greg took a deep breath. Minutes ticked by as he stared at the wall. Wendy patiently waited for his decision. His eyes suddenly shifted and met hers.

"Give me a few minutes. Can you talk to him first? Sort of…break the ice?"

Wendy smiled. "Sure thing. I'll be happy to shake him up a little." Her comment was met with a smile from her counterpart.

She left him in the lab and continued on her path to the lobby. As she entered it, she saw Dr. Cross standing idly by the chairs along the far wall. He appeared to be lost in thought.

"Good Morning, Dr. Cross," Wendy greeted.

The man looked over at her, startled out of his reverie. "Ms. Simms! Morning. How are you?"

"I'm doing well. I was a little surprised that you were willing to meet at this time. We could have just as easily met you during your regular office hours."

Dr. Cross shrugged. "I don't mind it. I actually find that it helps to meet with people during hours of their convenience, not mine." His eyes suddenly widened. "Uh…I mean…That sounded incredibly selfish, didn't it? I didn't mean to insinuate that my time is more important than yours. I only meant…"

"Doctor," Wendy calmly interrupted, "relax. I understood what you meant."

Cross smiled at her. "I'm sounding like an idiot, aren't I?"

"Maybe a little," she answered honestly. "Just out of curiosity, how long have you been practicing?"

"Almost seven years."

She tried not to look shocked. From his mannerisms, she figured he had just started. Seven years? Cross seemed to figure out what she was thinking.

"Granted, though, this is my first case of this nature."

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"The people I usually help are less…unbalanced. My normal practice deals with family issues. Marriage counseling, couples therapy, parent/child relations. Stuff like that." The man seemed to be relaxing more.

"How did you get Elicia?"

"I volunteered. Well, kind of. I've been branching out into different arenas and someone felt I could help Mrs. Morgan."

Wendy nodded her head. Movement caught her attention and she turned her head toward the hall on the other side of the room. She felt herself smile proudly as Greg walked over to them. She immediately reached out and pulled him next to her. She then turned back to Cross.

"Dr. Cross, this is Greg."

The psychiatrist smiled and held out his hand. "Mr. Sanders! It's a pleasure to meet you."

Greg hesitantly took the offered appendage. "Call me Greg. So…how do you want to do this?"

"Can we go somewhere private?" Cross inquired.

"Yeah, if you could go into that room over there," Wendy pointed to the same room she met him in before. "Greg and I will join you in a few minutes."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Greg alone. If that's alright?"

Wendy looked over at the man beside her. He gazed back. A squeeze of her hand accompanied by a wink gave her his answer.

"That'll be fine," she responded.

Greg turned to Wendy after the doctor entered the side room. "You don't mind?"

Wendy smiled. "Hey, you're the one he really wants to talk to. I was only a third party to what happened. Besides, I need to tell Grissom where you are. I don't think he'd be too happy to pay for your session."

Greg frowned. "I don't see you as being a third party. You were as involved as I was."

She leaned forward and kissed him. "Glad to see I'm always on your mind. Now get in there and show him how a CSI interrogates."

A grin spread across his face as he placed another kiss on her lips before heading to the room. After making sure he actually went in, Wendy turned on her heel and went to find Grissom.

Inside, Greg found the doctor sitting patiently in one of the chairs. He appeared to be only a few years older than himself. The man smiled at him. Greg wasn't too sure how to feel at this stage. Of course, he knew that it wouldn't be long until he was asked how he felt. This was going to be fun.

"Greg, please have a seat," Cross requested.

Greg's eyes narrowed. 'And so it begins,' he thought.

When he sat down, the psychiatrist seemed to notice the hostile stance Greg had taken. "I want to assure you," he started, "that this is in no way a therapy session. I'm not here to analyze you or pick apart your brain. I'm only getting a feel of how things are now."

Greg looked at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"As I told Miss Simms, this is my first time working a criminal case. I've had various colleagues of mine give advice on how to proceed. Most of it was conflicting. So I'm taking my own route." Cross shifted in his seat. "I'm attempting to gage the severity of Mrs. Morgan's actions based on the effects they had on those she impacted. I've already met with Teresa Nouvier."

Greg frowned as he attempted to recall the name. Ah! The woman who had tried to pick up Greg that night at the club. When he found out that she was the best friend of Elicia, he was stunned. Not only that, but she was in a car accident that very night. It was basically a bad evening all around.

"How is she?" Greg asked.

"She's doing better," Cross replied. "She has some scarring on her face that she felt self-conscious about. Finding out her friend was a serial killer didn't help either. She's getting help right now, though. She's seeing a very good therapist."

"It's not you is it?"

Greg's question was met with uproarious laughter. "No. No, it's not me," Cross said as he calmed down.

The doctor's somewhat lackadaisical nature put Greg at ease. "So what is it you want to ask me?"

Cross looked squarely into his eyes. "I'm going to assume that this is something you would rather forget, but it would help greatly in my assessment. Greg, I would like to know how she impacted your life. Has it had any effect on your relationship? I don't mean in a sexual way. I mean as a trust issue. The only interaction I've seen between you and Wendy was our introduction ten minutes ago. It appeared to be very healthy. But tell me, how do you feel?"

And there it was. Feel. Greg tried not to roll his eyes. Why was it always how he felt? In case nobody noticed, he wasn't very adept at relaying his feelings. He liked being the guy everyone thought of as carefree. It kept people from questioning him. Stupid therapists.

"How should I feel?" came the retort.

Cross frowned slightly. "Let's step back a moment. Greg, how would you describe your relationship with Wendy."

Greg folded his arms across his chest. "I don't see how that has anything to do with this."

A deep sigh was released from the doctor. "Greg, I'm not here to pry apart your life. I just want…"

"Yeah, you said that," Greg interrupted. "But you are still asking questions about my personal life. You want to know what impact that bitch had on me? Fine. She almost screwed up the best thing in my life before I even knew I had it. Now I spend every day afraid that I'll still find some way to screw it up. I slept with her while I was going out with Wendy. That's not even the right phrase. I fucked her! It was rough and void of feeling." Greg's anger was rising to the surface. Thoughts and feelings he never expressed before came pouring out. "I cheated on the most wonderful woman in my life without a thought. What does that say about me? The worst part is that Wendy has never said anything about it. She knows and she still stays with me. I'm trying to strengthen our relationship, but I don't know why. Is it out of guilt? Love? You tell me, _Doctor_. You want to know how I feel? Well, that's how I feel. Elicia Morgan is psychotic and deserves to be locked away in a padded room until the Four Horseman come trumpeting to her door!"

His eyes had gone cold and yet were ablaze with wrath. Dr. Cross sat across from him, stunned into silence. Greg glared at the man for what seemed like an eternity. Neither could look away. Finally, Greg blinked. His eyes had grown red at this point. The lack of sleep from the night before tied in with the caffeine overdose was finally taking it's toll. He sagged in his seat.

"You're right," Greg spoke softly. "I would rather forget about it. Bury it and never think of it again. It's not that easy, though. Did you know I have scars on my chest from where she stabbed me? Another physical reminder to add to my other souvenirs of events I'd like to forget. All I need now is a broken nose and I'll be complete." He chuckled at his own dark comment.

Dr. Cross ran a hand through his hair. "I…I'm sorry. This wasn't what I wanted. Wasn't what I expected. I'm not…I'm ill equipped for this."

Greg gave him a questioning look. Cross continued. "Like I said, this is my first time dealing with a criminal case. I'm a relationship counselor. I think I went about this the wrong way. Perhaps I should have listened to the advice I was given."

The doctor stood up. "Greg, I know you don't want any help. You didn't even want to see me. I understand. I really do. And honestly, it would be bad counseling if I were to try to help you. I can give you some advice, though, in regards to Wendy."

Greg gave a slight nod of his head. Cross took this to mean an affirmative.

"Talk to her. Tell her what you're feeling. Explain it to her. From what I've seen and heard, she appears to be a very supportive pillar in your life. Take advantage of that." He turned and grabbed the doorknob. "Don't worry. I won't request your presence at the hearing. I won't even engage with either of you unless it's on your terms." He gave Greg a warm smile. "I do wish you the best, though."

He then left the room. Greg stared at the door. When he was sure that he was alone, he broke down into a fit of sobs and cursing. The sounds of which were silenced by the closed door.

* * *

Hodges was busy in the Trace Lab when Wendy stuck her head in.

"Hey, Hodges. Have you seen Grissom around?"

He looked over at the interruption. "He's discussing details about the Tangiers Case, Simms. He is a busy man."

"Oh, has something come up?" she asked, interest piqued.

Hodges straightened up a little. A slightly smug look took over. "I believe something has. Yours truly broke the case."

Her eyebrow raised. "Really? You broke the case? Might I ask how?"

"I don't see the need to inform anyone about what could be considered highly sensitive details involving a high profile case."

She scoffed at his assertion. "Okay. But you do see the need to inform everyone of your role in discovering highly sensitive details involving a high profile case."

Hodges frowned. "I didn't say _everyone_, Simms."

"Oh! So I'm one of the privileged few. Lucky me," she stated sarcastically. "Have you seen Grissom or not?"

"Why the rush. If it pertains to the case, which I doubt, I think another CSI is around. Sara's here somewhere. I figured Sanders was as well. Or is he too busy playing poker with Freud?"

Wendy stilled and narrowed her eyes at Hodges. "What did you say?"

Hodges smirked. "I hear your boyfriend is seeing a shrink, and on company time I might add."

Wendy took several steps closer. "Okay, first off, who told you that?"

The tech shrugged. "I heard Nick mention it as he walked past. I guess the man can't keep a secret."

Anger swarmed through her like bees through a hive. "Hodges, that is none of your business. It has nothing to do with anything here at the lab. In fact, it has nothing to do with anything you might concern yourself with. Second, if I hear you say anything to anyone, I swear to whatever infernal deity you worship that I will rip out your esophagus and mail it to your own mother."

She turned to leave the lab, when the startled Trace tech stopped.

"Whoa, hold on. I didn't mean anything by it, Wendy. I'm just concerned is all."

"Concerned?" she asked suspiciously. "For what?"

"For you. Sanders hasn't always been all that stable. Before you got here, he had quiet the reputation. He would apparently go through women faster then…"

"You finish that statement and I will castrate you," interjected the angry woman. "I don't know what game your playing at, but shut it. My previous _promise _applies to my relationship with Greg, as well. And I think I could get away with it too."

Wendy stormed out of the lab and went hunting for her next prey. She stalked around the lab for a few minutes until her quarry was found. Marching into the break room, she slammed the door. Her target was busy getting a cup of coffee when he was startled.

"What the hell?" cried Nick.

"What the hell, indeed. What the hell is your problem, Stokes?!" shouted Wendy.

Nick scoffed. "Whatever…"

He tried to push past her when she shoved him back. He looked at her, truly surprised this time.

"I've been patient," Wendy began. "I gave Greg time to talk to you. Well, now I'm through being patient. I don't know what the hell your problem is, but quit it! Greg and I have been nothing but nice to you. Yet, all you do to reciprocate is act like a complete jackass! What gives?"

Nick looked down into his coffee cup. "Nothing…"

"Nothing my ass! What's your deal?"

Nick continued to stare into his cup. He didn't respond to her question. She glared at him as the seconds rolled by.

"You don't want to tell me, fine. But keep your mouth shut about Greg and I."

He looked at her, confused.

"Hodges heard you talking about Greg and the therapist he's meeting with. Just so you know, Dr. Cross isn't Greg's psychiatrist. He's Elicia Morgan's"

Nick's eyes widened at the name. He never considered that Greg would still be dealing with the ramifications of that incident.

Wendy took some satisfaction from the look on Nick's face. "You're my superior, so I can't threaten you like a did Hodges. I can, however, report you for workplace misconduct. That is _not _a threat. Only a warning. Now back off!"

Having said her piece, Wendy left the room to proceed on her original mission. Nick sat down in one of the chairs. He was slightly ashamed of his actions. He took a sip of the coffee and frowned. He missed Blue Hawaiian.

* * *

Grissom stood in front of the long wooden table in the conference room. To his left was Warrick, his right was Sofia. Standing across from him was Ecklie. Listening over the speaker phone on the table was Brass. Ecklie cleared his throat and looked directly at Warrick.

"You stand by your theory?" He asked.

Warrick nodded his head. Ecklie looked over at Grissom.

"Gil. What do you think?"

"His theory is backed by solid evidence. I agree with Warrick."

"This isn't going to be easy," Ecklie stated. "I don't know, Gil. A judge might not see it as clearly as you do. The evidence you got is based solely on theoretical numbers. The slightest change in airflow could have effected the path of the gunshot residue."

"What about the gun?" questioned Warrick. "I don't think 'airflow' would make GSR completely avoid it but cover the hand, instead."

"It's still circumstantial, Warrick," Ecklie replied.

"It might be," Sofia interjected. "But it should still be enough to get a warrant. One to at least allow us to bring Pritchard in for questioning without any problems from the Union."

"_Alright," _came the voice from the speaker phone. _"I'll call Judge Benes and get the warrant. Sofia, get Vartann and collect our friend. Hopefully he hasn't skipped town."_

Sofia huffed. "Arrogant guy like that? Jim, you saw him at the debriefing. He thought he was completely in the right. If he is guilty, he probably doesn't even think we're on to him."

"_Yeah, I remember. I'll have to inform McKeen as well. Go ahead and still contact Vartann. I want you to move as soon as I have cleared it."_

"Will do," Sofia confirmed.

"Gil, if Pritchard is crooked, then he wouldn't be doing this for himself." Ecklie stated. "Somebody had to have been giving him orders."

Grissom nodded his head. "I have considered that," he replied cryptically.

"You mean, like someone within the department?" Warrick asked.

"Not necessarily," Sofia defended. "It could be someone from the outside."

"Like who?" inquired Warrick.

Grissom stared off into space. "Braun."

* * *

Catherine refused to sit down next to her father. Even though she had done it so many times in the past, now felt different. She didn't feel comfortable here. She didn't feel comfortable with him. Still, she had a job to do.

"Sam, tell me about Holt," she calmly requested.

Sam took a sip from his drink. "Like I said, he was a decent employee. Hired him from some low-bit security agency. I liked his look. He was intimidating, but not frightening. Broad shouldered and he had penetrating eyes. I'm sure you seen something like that. Dark, almost black. I saw him get confessions out of cheaters with only his stare."

He paused as he took another sip. Then he lightly stirred his drink, gathering his thoughts while he did so.

"He moved up fairly quickly. I brought him inside to work the floor. He knew how to spot a con a mile away. He was a natural. Two years ago, I made him head of security. I thought it was the best investment I could make." He laughed. "Look how well that turned out."

Catherine brushed a stray hair away from eyes. "What about Regan?"

Sam shook his head. "Regan was a nobody. Some kid who was hired to fill an open position. You know dealers, Catherine. Their turnover is just as high as waitresses. Five years he was dealer. Yet, I don't think anyone really took notice of him. Guy had no motivation. He made no impact."

"I think he made an impact now," Catherine stated.

Sam only shrugged at the comment. "I still don't see how either of them could have been in on it together. Of course, Regan may have been the lowest rung on the ladder. Hired muscle, as it were. Probably how Holt got caught. Kid screwed up."

She narrowed her eyes. "I do have another question, Sam. This is the second time you've had problems with a security official."

Braun's face went cold. He knew who she was referring to. "Catherine," he warned.

"Rob Rubio was your head of security at The Rampart, was he not." It wasn't a question. Catherine wouldn't forget Rubio. The former military sniper was the man who murdered Detective Cyrus Lockwood three years ago. It was that case that led to her discovery of her true connection with Braun.

"I have no comment concerning that." Sam's voice was no longer pleasant. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things that I have to attend to."

"Of course you do," Catherine replied sarcastically.

Pleased to be able to leave, she gratefully walked out of the office. From now on, Grissom would have to send somebody else to question Braun. She was over and done with him.

* * *

A/N: Emotions were running high in this chapter. I'm not big on angst, so this will probably be the biggest blow up from Greg you'll see. Until the inevitable confrontation with Nick of course. Speaking of which, that will be further down the road. It will happen though.

Happyharper 13: Just wanted to let you know that I referenced one of your stories here. I hope you don't mind. It just kind of happened. I used it as a compliment to you ;)

Thank you for the reviews. I don't want to sound greedy, but keep 'em coming :)


	12. Causality

Chapter 12: Causality

"God dammit!"

The cry, let forth from Vartann's mouth, echoed throughout the vacant apartment. Sofia was unsure if the neighbors heard it or not. Frankly, she didn't care. Pritchard was gone. He had slipped right through their fingers.

"This is just perfect. How…?" Vartann trailed off. He looked over at Sofia. "How could he have known we were coming? He had no reason to run. We had nothing to suspect him of. There…just wasn't any reason." His voice got quite at the end. It sounded…defeated.

Sofia looked at him with sympathy. She understood what was going through his head. One word only. Corruption. The fact that he ran proved that Daniel Pritchard was a corrupt cop. Where there was one, there was bound to be more. That was the crux of the issue. The possibility of rampant vice in the Las Vegas Police Department was now clear as day.

Vartann's question brought up another point as well. How _did_ Pritchard know they were coming for him? The only people who were aware, besides Vartann, herself and the others who attended the meeting, were David Hodges, Judge Benes and the Undersheriff. She refused to believe that any of them could be on the take.

But that also raised the question of how well did she know each of her compatriots? What were the qualities required to make someone corrupt? Greed? Fear? Desperation? She knew she couldn't answer that question. She wasn't a sociologist.

Vartann sighed. "I'll call Brass. We'll have to put out an APB on Pritchard." Without glancing at her, Vartann walked out of the apartment.

Sofia stood there. Her mind racing over the possible suspects. She was a trained investigator. Her skills were tuned to look for what others didn't. Was there something she could glean from her knowledge of her co-workers.

She had heard a lot about Jim Brass professionally. A former New Jersey cop, divorced. Other than that tidbit and the circumstances around his daughter, no one really knew anything about him personally. Except she did learn why he left Jersey. He was one of only a handful of clean cops in an otherwise dirty department. No, Jim was a standup guy.

The two CSI's who were involved came to her mind next. She laughed to herself. The idea of Gil Grissom being corrupt wasn't as funny as it was ridiculous. She brushed that thought away quickly. Warrick Brown on the other hand…

Sofia was aware of his past issues with gambling. She worked on dayshift when Holly Gribbs was killed. His apparent thirst for that thrill had cost the life of one of their own. Compulsions such as that could allow someone to be bought. However, there were two pieces of evidence that nixed the idea of Brown being on someone's payroll. First, he wasn't one to be controlled. When Judge Cohen attempted to do so, Brown helped bring the man down, even at the risk of his own career. Second, he was the one who first came to the conclusion about Pritchard. He wouldn't turn in an 'ally' like that. Not when said 'ally' could just as easily rat him out. No, Brown was clean.

Her thoughts drifted over to the next man on the list, Conrad Ecklie. The assistant lab director was known to play politics. Indeed, he was more of a bureaucrat than a scientist. Yet, Sofia worked along side him for years. While he was shrewd and had no compulsions about steamrolling anyone who got in his way up the career ladder, she didn't believe he was the type of man who would sacrifice morals on his ascent. Despite his many flaws, he was a force for good.

That left the three men she couldn't vouch for. She hadn't worked with Hodges very often. He was a nightshift tech, after all. To be frank, though, she couldn't see him being crooked. The man was too stupid. Sure, he was book smart, but that was about it. He did have loose lips, though. It was possible that he just opened up his damn mouth to the wrong person.

Judge Benes was one of the few judges in this city that Brass regularly went to. There seemed to be a good relationship between the two men, and that was enough for her.

McKeen was an entirely different story. The Undersheriff was an enigma. He could be cordial one moment, then unleash his wrath upon you the next. If Ecklie was shrewd, then McKeen was ruthless. Nothing got in his way. Again, she had to ask herself how much did she trust that man? However, her answer still included her disbelief that anyone in the department was corrupt.

"Sofia?"

Hearing her name brought Sofia out of her thought process. She looked over at Vartann.

"What?"

"Brass wants us to remain here. Ecklie is sending some investigators over. Maybe we'll find a clue of where the bastard might have gone."

Hopefully they would find something. She glanced around the apartment. She felt like something was missing. Something important. A clue? Perhaps. But was it something they already had found and overlooked? Or was it something waiting to be discovered?

"Alright," Sofia said. "I'm going to wait outside."

Vartann nodded as she walked past him. As she stepped past the doorway, she flinched suddenly as a sharp pain struck her arm. Looking down, she saw the rusted end of a nail sticking out slightly from the door frame.

* * *

Nick sat in Grissom's office, waiting patiently. His supervisor had just welcomed him in, when Ecklie called the man out. Something important apparently had just gone down. That was nearly fifteen minutes ago. Nick tapped his fingers on his boss's desk, counting the seconds go by. Although patient, he was still anxious to find out what Miss McCabe had asked.

Grissom walked quickly back into the office. He didn't look particularly happy. He sat down at his desk and immediately booted up his computer. Nick just stared at him, silent. He decided to let the older man initiate the conversation.

Gil seemed to finally take notice of his guest. "Alright, Nicky. What is it that can't wait until tonight?"

"Did Miss McCabe see you last night?" he asked eagerly.

"As a matter of fact, she did."

Nick blinked several times. When Grissom said nothing, he frowned. "And…" he coaxed.

Grissom took off his glasses. "She mainly wanted to ask about two events."

"Which two?"

"First was your abduction."

Nick sighed. "I figured she would ask about that. What did you tell her?"

"Nick," Grissom said in a stern voice. "I think that's between Miss McCabe and myself."

Anger flashed through Nick's eyes. "Gris! This isn't some kind of random questionnaire. We're talking about my life!"

"Calm down, Nick. I just figured that I would leave that up to Miss McCabe. I told her only that you were seeing a doctor." Nick opened his mouth, but Grissom continued. "She seemed okay with it. Her only comment was that she would talk to you abut it."

Nick thought that over. He supposed that wasn't a bad thing. "What was the other thing she asked about?"

Grissom paused. He didn't seem to sure about what to say. In the end, he decided to cut straight to the point. "Kristy Hopkins."

Nick's jaw dropped. "She…she asked about…Kristy? How…how did she know? It wasn't put on my record. I…she…" He ran a hand through his hair as painful memories surfaced.

Concern flooded over Grissom as he watched the man in front of him start to crack. "Nick. Nicky? Are you alright?"

Slight teary eyes met his. "I…yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Just didn't expect it is all." Nick turned away and looked at the insects pinned to the wall behind the supervisor's desk.

"You know how these people are," Grissom began. "They have to do thorough background checks. They can't be lax on this sort of thing. Especially given the unusual request that you've provided."

"Yeah, you're right." Nick took a deep breath. "Was that all she asked?"

"She also wanted to speak with Catherine, Sara and Warrick. They weren't around."

Nick only nodded his head. Hopefully McCabe wasn't an overachiever.

"Nick, you know she isn't going to give up that easily."

Damn. "I know," was all Nick said.

"Have you told anyone else?"

Nick thought about lying, but knew it would amount to nothing. "No," he stated simply.

Grissom watched him for a few seconds. It was as though he were trying to figure out how to say what he was about to say. Nick waited patiently.

"I'm not going to lecture you. This is your life, your rules. It's not my place to interfere. I can offer you some advice, though. 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.'"

"Aristotle?" Nick asked, half caring.

"Lao Tzu, actually. It's causality, Nick. If you really want this to happen, you have to take the appropriate steps. Inaction only breeds further inaction. I know why you don't want to tell them. You're afraid it won't work out and then they will smother you with pity. But remember, they are your friends. You listed them as such for a reason. Use them."

Nick nodded his head. Silently, he stood from the chair and walked out of the office.

He passed through the hallways, not really noticing anything or anyone. He neared the locker room, although he had no intent to go inside. He instead stopped, and just stood there.

"Nick?"

He looked up. Sara was walking toward him. He expression was one of confusion and bemusement.

"Decided that lingering around the lab would be better then being alone at home?" Sara asked, voice slightly high with humor.

"Maybe…" Nick said, trailing off. He closed his eyes. 'Why not?' he answered an unspoken question to himself.

"Sara, can I talk to you for a few minutes."

She blinked. "Yeah, let me drop a few things of, then we can talk."

After Sara walked off, Nick turned his head toward the locker room. As he did so, something caught his attention. A shirt was lying on the ground in front of one of the lockers. He approached it and picked it up. It was a Nine Inch Nails shirt. Greg's. Nick frowned. Although a little messy, Greg was at least known for making sure that his stuff was always put away at work. The shirt looked like it was thrown away with haste. He must've been in a hurry to get out of there.

Nick opened Greg's locker. It should've been locked. The younger man really must have wanted to get out. Sadness and guilt enveloped Nick. He was being cruel to Greg. As he went to put the shirt on a hanger, he stopped. There was picture on the inside door. It was of the team. Standing there, off to the left with a grin on his face, was Greg. His arm was slung around Nick's shoulder. Nick's own face looked slightly bewildered. Pain erupted inside of him. He knew he was being a dick, but what else could he do? How do you unlove someone? He threw the shirt into the locker and slammed the door. He glared at the locker numbers for what seemed like hours.

"Okay, Nick," Sara's voice echoed from the doorway. "What was it you wanted to tell me."

He looked over at her. "Can we go somewhere private?"

* * *

Catherine stared out the window of her living room. She was happy to finally be home. It seemed like she had been away for far two long, even if it was just one night. Her meeting with Sam really took it out of her though.

"Morning, Catherine," Lily greeted as she entered the room. "Lindsey's already off to school."

"This early?"

"Amber and Caitlin picked her up. Said they had some last minute work to get done. Probably just looking at boys," her mother snickered.

Catherine frowned. She wasn't too happy about that kind of behavior, but a least it wasn't the worst she could do. She didn't know what she would do if she ever caught her sneaking into a club or something.

"Don't worry, Catherine," Lily stated, seeing the expression on her daughters face. "It's normal for girls her age to be interested in boys. You should know about that."

"Do I ever," Catherine muttered under her breath.

Lily sat down on the couch. She held a plate with some toast on it. She usually dropped by in the mornings to see Lindsey off to school in case her daughter couldn't. Helping herself to a little breakfast was also part of the routine.

"How was work?" Lily asked

A sudden thought occurred to Catherine. "Mom, did Sam ever mention someone named Amon?"

"Amon? No…not that I know of. Why?"

"No reason."

"Did you see Sam last night?"

Catherine nodded her head. Unease once again overtook her. She looked over at her mother. "Mom, can I ask for a favor? You're not going to like it."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I would like you to stop seeing Sam. At least for the time being."

"Why? Catherine I don't see how my relationship is any of your business."

"Mom, he's a person of interest in an on going case!"

"Here we go," Lily exclaimed as she got to her feet and walked toward the kitchen. "He is not involved, Catherine! For Christ's sake, he was with me when it happened!"

"Mother, please! All I'm asking is taking a rain check on any dates with him until this case is closed."

"I can't believe this. He's your father!"

Catherine glared at her mother. "Only biologically! I still don't see why you're with him. You even admitted that he wasn't going to be monogamous with you."

"Just because you can't get a date doesn't mean I'm not allowed to. Catherine, you haven't even looked into anyone for what…almost a year? I know that Novak guy was a jerk, but you should at least try seeing someone. Even with your schedule, someone should find you interesting."

"I am _not_ going down this road with you. And Novak was already forgotten, thank you very much. My social life has no bearing on yours. My professional life, however, _does_!"

Lily threw up her hands. "I'm done, Catherine. Sam is a good man. It's your own fault you can't see that. Even Lindsey likes him. Either way, I'm still going to see him so he'll still be a part of _your _life. Social, professional or otherwise."

Grabbing her purse, Lily walked out of the front door. Catherine turned back to the window and watched her mother drive away. Angrily, she slapped the glass, only to recoil in pain. Glancing down at her hand, he realized she broke a nail. After inspecting it for a few seconds, she looked back out the window at the city beyond.

It was early morning, the sun had just barely risen. The sky above was clear, blue. It was probably going to be hot. One thing about Vegas, when it got hot, it scorched. The asphalt jungle held no qualms against burning it's inhabitants. If there ever was a metaphor for her life, it was this city. Her mind, body and soul were as tied into it as the legacies of the men who crafted this oasis were.

Her eyes looked away from skies above to the horizon. What few clouds there were, glowed with a brilliant red. She suddenly remembered the old saying: _Red Skies in the Morning, Sailors take Warning_. A storm was coming. She looked back at her broken nail, than at the clouds again. It looked like it was going to be a big one.

* * *

Warrick stood in the foyer of his house. It was quiet. He wasn't even sure if his wife was home. He didn't bother opening the garage when he arrived, just parked his car on the driveway. After dropping his keys in the bowl by the door, he just decided to stand. Looking around, the house felt foreign to him. Although, the kitchen did have a certain 'pull' on him. He was just about to walk toward it, when something else caught his eye.

Just beyond the living room, was a closed door that was supposed to be an office. Both Tina and he, however, converted the room into a 'hobby' room. Several bookcases lined the walls, filled with medical and other assorted text books. There were some forensic journals and chemistry manuals among the lot, but they were primarily Tina's. The woman did love to read. Some of the books were odd even, old college texts from classes that really didn't apply to her career. She just couldn't part with books, though.

Sitting quietly in the back corner was Warrick's most treasured possession. Nestled amongst the books was his grandmother's old piano. She taught him to play on it, and it held some of his fondest memories of her. After she died, he was forced to put it into storage. There was simply no room for it in his old apartment. Over the years, he forgot about it. Upon it's discovery, however, Tina insisted that they bring it into the house. He never understood why.

Walking into the forgotten room, Warrick's observation skills took over. It may have been the early morning light, but he was amazed by the differences the room held. There were two lamps situated on opposite corners of the room. One sat on a dark oak table beside a bookcase. The other, a standing lamp, was next to the piano. The table lamp was immaculate and appeared to have been used somewhat often. Indeed, upon closer inspection he saw the books were almost dust free.

His corner, however, was not. The lamp went unused and unkempt. The piano had a layer of dust on it. With a frown on his face, Warrick took off his overshirt and began to wipe the particles from the polished surface and ivory keys. Reaching over, he turned on the lamp. Surprisingly, it worked.

Before he knew it, he was sitting on the bench, tracing the keys with his fingers. He gently pushed the key of C. He smiled. It was still in tune. They didn't make 'em like this anymore. His other hand joined the first as they slowly danced across the glistening ivory. Just as before, he got lost in his actions. Closing his eyes, he remembered the notes of a sad tune his Gram had taught him. A tune whose name he couldn't know, because she couldn't recall it. He wasn't even sure if it had a name.

So lost was he, that he didn't hear the wooden door creak open. Cotton covered feet silently glided across the wood floor over to the pianist. A soft hum joined the piano in song. Warrick opened his eyes. Tina was resting beside the piano, eyes closed, as she continued to hum the tune. Again, it might have been a trick of the light, but he was awestruck by her beauty. The expression on her face was one of pure bliss.

He stopped playing. Without missing a beat, she continued with her song for several bars. Finally, she quieted. Her expression unchanged, she opened her eyes. They were fixed on his own.

"Do you remember the first time you played this for me?" she asked.

Warrick smiled. "It was our third date. We were walking through that art village when we walked by a music store. We went in."

Tina leaned closer to Warrick. "That's when I fell in love with you."

Reaching out, she toughed his shoulder. The connection lasted a few seconds, then she removed her hand. Quietly she walked over to her side of the room.

Warrick blinked. Her side. Looking around, he realized something. They used to have equal sides. Now, her side took up three quarters of the room. His side laid forgotten and dust riddled. If it weren't for her side, the entire room would have looked awful.

He stood up and went to stand beside her. Her concentration was fixed on a photograph. The picture was using an old textbook that was sticking out too far as support. It was taken at the housewarming party they threw. He was standing next to Tina in the center of a large group. On her side, several co-workers from the hospital smiled at the camera. On his, stood Nick, Grissom, Sara, Greg, Wendy, Brass, and Sofia.

He noticed a small dust particle lying on his face. Frowning, he swept it off. Looking at the photo, he realized what he had to do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She didn't respond.

"I've been selfish. You have bent over backwards for me. I should have done my fair share. I'll talk to Grissom about a shift change."

Tina turned around. She smiled brightly at him. "Even is you can't," she said, "at least you're giving it a chance." She then kissed him.

After the kiss broke, he held her for several minutes. He felt happy. "Would you like some breakfast?" he asked.

"No, that's okay. I haven't been feeling well lately. Thank you, though."

After placing another soft kiss on her lips, she broke the embrace. She touched his cheek before turning away and walking out of the room.

Warrick watched after her. He felt pulled again, suddenly. Looking back at the picture, he was compelled to pick it up. He examined his friend's faces. Only Greg and Wendy seemed genuinely happy. Grissom held his usual bemused smirk, as did Sara. Brass seemed bored. Both Sofia and Nick looked vaguely aware of what was going on. Conspicuously absent was Catherine. Warrick frowned. When had this happened? When did they break apart? Perhaps this sacrifice was for the best.

He reached to put the photo back, when he knocked the book over. Both the book and photo fell to the ground. He heard a faint crack. Groaning, he bent to retrieve the items. Looking at the picture, he saw the glass had cracked. A line went straight down over Warrick's face and ended on Tina's stomach . Gently picking it up, he placed it on the shelf, with the back down. He then turned toward the book. It was an old English literature book from one of Tina's early college classes. It had opened to a page filled with old sayings and proverbs. He read the one looking directly at him.

_For want of a nail the shoe was lost,_

_for want of a shoe the horse was lost,_

_for want of a horse the knight was lost,_

_for want of a knight the battle was lost,_

_So it was a kingdom was lost - all for want of a nail._

_

* * *

_A/N: Thus ends the second act. I really hope you're enjoying the story so far.

This particular chapter is filled with deep thoughts and subtle clues. There is a reaccuring element in each scene. It serves as a metaphor. I'll give you hint, it ties in with the proverbial rhyme at the end.

Also, there are many variations on 'For want of a nail'. I chose this one because I liked the way it flowed. The same goes for the 'Red Skies' saying.

Please review. This chapter sets up the rest of the story so I'd like to know what you thought of it.


	13. Castle Bravo

Chapter 13: Castle Bravo

_**10:08 A.M.**_

_-We're sorry, your regularly scheduled program will now be interrupted for a breaking news story. We come to you now from Las Vegas, Nevada.-_

"_Good morning. This is Paula Francis. At approximately 9:15 this morning, the city of Las Vegas was rocked due to a series of explosions at Pike's Gambling Hall and Casino. We have no word yet on how many people were inside or the number of causalities. We go now to our field anchor, Rachel Li."_

"_Thanks, Paula. I'm standing outside what remains of Pike's Gambling Hall. As you can see, firefighters are still struggling to contain the fire that has enveloped the second and third floor. From what we can see, the first floor was where the blast originated and has clearly been left in ruins…"_

**8:56 A.M.**

It was several hours after daybreak. Las Vegas, the city of lights, shrank into itself as the Great Star rose over head. A city known for it's night life, it looked less then appealing in the light of day. Buildings and street corners that normally would have been attractive and, some would say, even sexy now appeared old and past their prime. This effect, similar to the phrase 'coyote ugly', was the reason that much of the city's business died off during the daylight hours. No one cared to go out and mingle in scenery that was considered repulsive. The desert had that effect on the 'Oasis of the Mojave'.

Yet, there were still people who took to the usual sights of the city with the sun blazing above. These daywalkers generally were compulsive gamblers or just regular folks who preferred getting a good night's sleep. As such, many casinos still made decent profit during the day.

One such locale was Pike's Gambling Hall and Casino. The old building was opened in 1959. It was the first casino built by future mogul Samuel Braun. Over the years, many casinos came and went: The Sands, The Hux Club, The Desert Inn, Le Chateau Rouge. Braun, however, refused to implode the old building. It held many memories for the man. After all, there was nothing like your first. And so, Pike's lingered on. It morphed from a Vegas hotspot in the 60's and 70's into a quaint, relaxed setting it was today. Only pure gamblers visited the place. There were no shows or bawdy vaudevillian acts taking place at Pike's. Only the Game itself.

This morning began like any other. With the sun rising, that also meant the temperature was as well. People who still patrolled the streets took shelter in whatever building they found interesting. One was Pike's. Once inside, they could either mingle in the game rooms on the first floor, attend the various sport betting venues on the second, or enjoy a casual refreshment at the bar and restaurant on the third.

It was fairly busy, as usual, throughout the casino. No one took notice as four men entered. They carried no bags or any excessive clothing. They only wore sunglasses. One of the men felt his cell phone vibrate. He sighed as he picked it up.

"What is it, Waylon?"

**9:23 A.M**

Sara sat across from Nick at Frank's Diner. It was their usual hang out after work. This morning, however, was different. Sara stared at Nick, her mouth slightly open. Nick looked at her with a shy determination.

"Well," he stated, "say something."

Sara blinked. "I…wow. That's some news."

Nick smiled slightly. "Yeah. Um…so you should probably expect Miss McCabe to want to talk to you at some point."

"Okay," she responded. "Nick, are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

"But…I mean, this is huge."

"I know."

"Have you really given this a lot of thought? Enough thought?"

"Yes," Nick replied with conviction. "Sara, I'm ready for this."

Sara looked at him with an analyzing glance. "Does this have anything to do with your kidnapping?"

Nick sighed. "I guess it does. If I learned anything down there, it was that life is too short. Do you know what it feels like to have your whole life planned out for you? My parents expected me to play football and go to the college of their choice. They expected me to follow one of them in a career of _substance_. They were both so happy to see me graduate from the police academy." He paused. A small smile formed on his face. "It brought me a little joy to see their looks when I announced that I was transferring over to criminalistics. I'm just tired of having to do what is expected of me. To do what is considered traditional. If I don't do this, I may not get a chance otherwise."

Concern and sympathy washed over Sara. She too knew about having her life planned out. Well, as much as foster homes could plan. "Who says you won't get any other chance?"

"Sara," Nick began. "I'm in my late thirties. I don't exactly have all the time in the world."

"It's not like your turning fifty either. This could be just a crisis or something."

"It's not. Not the kind you're thinking of."

"Nick," Sara started. However, her phone went off. Frowning at the interruption, she glanced at the caller id.

"Hey, Grissom," she greeted into the phone. Her smile disappeared quickly, though. "What? Oh my God! Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yeah, Nick's with me. Okay. See you there."

"What's up?" Nick asked, confused.

"Something big has happened."

* * *

**10:25 A.M.**

"_I'm speaking with Captain Jim Brass of the Las Vegas Police Department. Captain Brass, what exactly happened here this morning?"_

"_Well, we're not entirely sure at his point. We have been unable to enter the scene due to the fire. Once it's clear, our investigators will begin to process it."_

"_How many casualties were there?"_

"_Again, we do not know who was in the upper floors. We have pulled approximately 76 bodies from the building so far. Any survivors have been taken immediately over to Desert Palms Hospital."_

"_Does this have any connection with the Tangiers Massacre earlier this week?"_

"_We do not know at this time. I'm sorry, that's all I can say right now."_

"_Thank you, Captain Brass."_

**8:58 A.M.**

"What is it, Waylon?"

"_Don't get smart, Hank. You guys have the stuff?"_

"Yeah. We're also inside. Go over the plan again, will ya."

"_Damn it, Henshaw! We've been over this. Each of you will go stand at one of the corners on the first floor. At 9:15, take out the powder and ignite it."_

"Just with a match, right? This stuff isn't going to blow up in our face will it?"

"_Naw, it's clear. Trust me. Came from Roland's place. You know the guy knows his stuff."_

"How big is this going to be?"

"_Not too big. Just enough to shake up Braun a little."_

"And we've got plenty of time to get out, right?"

"_Yeah. According to Roland, it starts to burn slowly. You'll have plenty of time."_

"Alright, let's do this."

**9:26 A.M.**

Greg stared at the ceiling. He never noticed how many cracks there were in it. His eyes shifted over to the vent in the wall. It was rusted and there was a moisture stain around it. One that could be harboring mold. The kind that caused your skull to cave in with black puss. He shivered.

It would be nice to move out of this dump. Of course, it would be nice if someone had offered their place to him. He had had an offer. His wonderful, beautiful girlfriend. Or was it ex-girlfriend? He wasn't sure on their current status. One thing he was sure about, though, was that they had engaged in their biggest fight yet.

It started out as a normal disagreement. He was upset after meeting with Cross. She was upset over something that happened in the lab. Something to do with Nick or Hodges. He really couldn't remember. Next thing he knows, they're flinging insults at each other. He was so frustrated, he almost crashed his car as he took her home. Ever the gentleman. At the time, he wanted her to walk. She had called him a coward and a momma's boy. He didn't much enjoy being called a coward. So, he called her a few things. Mean things.

Now he felt terrible. His life was currently suspended in a toilet bowl just waiting for someone to flush. How did it come to this? He seriously doubted that Wendy would forgive him after everything. He was just so stressed, he really didn't mean it.

Greg heard his cell phone begin to ring. He sighed and continued to stare at the ceiling. After the phone stopped, he closed his eyes. Without missing a beat, the phone rang again. Greg turned onto his side, away from the world, and pulled a pillow over his head.

* * *

**10:46 A.M.**

"_I'm here with Sheriff Rory Atwater. Sheriff, what can you tell us about this incident?"_

"_I'm afraid we have very little details at this time. We've managed to get the fire contained, and the building is being inspected for any stability issues. Once that's clear, our investigators will go in and try to sort this out."_

"_Do you believe this has anything to do with the attack at the Tangiers? Both are owned by Sam Braun. Is this something against him?"_

"_It's too early to tell. As for Braun, we will be questioning him concerning this incident."_

"_Is Mr. Braun a suspect?"_

"_Not at this time. Mr. Braun has been very helpful with the investigation involving the Tangiers. Hopefully, he will continue be just as helpful…"_

**9:06 A.M.**

Hank Henshaw hung up his phone and looked at the other guys. Three anxious pairs of eyes were fixed on him. Clearing his throat, he proceeded to tell them what to do.

"Alright, each of us will stand near one of the corners of the building. At 9:15, we'll takeout the powder, and use a match to ignite it."

"This is safe, right?" one of the men asked.

Hank looked at him. "Yeah, Hart, it is. According to Waylon, the powder starts to burn slow. We should have plenty of time to get the hell out of here. Okay, Hart, go to the Northeast corner. Sebastian, take the Northwest. Cliff, will be in the Southeast. I'll go to the Southwest. Everybody clear?"

The three men nodded their heads. With one last glance at each other, they broke apart and went their separate ways.

**8:45 A.M.**

Catherine frowned as she heard the doorbell ring. It couldn't possibly be her mother. Actually, it could, but it wouldn't be. If she knew her mother at all, then she knew where she got her stubborn streak from. She was only mildly surprised to see a stranger standing on the other side of the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The woman smiled. "Are you Catherine Willows?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Mari McCabe." She waited for Catherine to respond.

Catherine blinked, waiting for a further introduction. "Yeah…?"

The woman sadly shook her head. "I'm guessing Mr. Stokes didn't tell you I would request to meet you."

She shook her head. "No, no he didn't."

"I figured as much. May I come in?"

The red head was a little unsure, but the woman's smile seemed innocent. She stepped away from the door to allow her entrance.

"Thank you. Has Mr. Stokes mentioned anything of what he's been doing?"

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about." Catherine was tired and didn't feel much like playing guessing games.

Mari sighed. How did she know that Nick wasn't going to make her job easy? As Catherine led her to the living room to sit, she informed her client's co-worker of where she was from. As the woman absorbed the information, Mari looked at a few pictures around the room. There were several of Catherine with a young girl. Probably a daughter. This made her smile.

Catherine blinked several times. "Wait. If your from…then Nick's…?"

Mari felt slightly amused at the red head's lack of speech. "Yes. I'm here to ask about his character. As you can guess, this is highly unusual."

"I didn't even know you allowed this?" Catherine asked.

"We do. But we are much more critical of the prospective client. We can't afford not to be." Mari answered.

Catherine nodded her head.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all."

"How long have known Mr. Stokes?"

"Um…I've known Nick for about ten years."

"How would you describe his character?"

Catherine had to think about this. She didn't know how much Nick had told this woman. She had to be careful. The fact that he had been molested when he was younger or that he was gay might do some damage.

"Nick has always been a strong, compassionate man. He has seen and been through so many horrible events, its hard to believe he's still the same person."

Mari raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"He still believes that people are inherently good. I once thought he was just naïve."

"And now?"

"If I had to use one word to describe him…innocent."

Now both of Mari's eyebrows went up. She hadn't expected that word. It wasn't a word that one used very often anymore. "Interesting. Ms. Willows, do you see this as a flaw?"

Catherine surprised her again with a smile. "Not at all. If it did produce any weaknesses in Nick, it would be his hero complex"

"Hero complex?"

The red head laughed. "He has a somewhat annoying habit of rushing to the rescue. Especially when it comes to women and children."

Suddenly, everything Mari had learned about Kristy Hopkins clicked. She had always found it odd that a man with no previous inclinations toward solicitation of women would wind up in bed with a prostitute. Unless, he felt he was saving her. Mari smiled again.

They continued to talk for about another twenty minutes or so. Mari was pleased that Catherine had an in depth perspective of Nick. It was really making her job easier. She always figured that Nick Stokes was a good guy. After everything she read about him, and now the praises his friends and co-workers were singing, she was feeling pretty good about this.

Catherine's phone rang, putting a stop to the conversation. Mari thanked her for her time, and excused herself. As she exited the house, she only faintly heard Catherine's exclamations over the phone.

* * *

**11:36 A.M.**

_We have just received the latest news from Pike's Gambling Hall and Casino. According to the Chief of the Fire Department, there appeared to be four separate explosions. The exact nature of the explosives hasn't been disclosed yet._

_We also have received the latest body count. Approximately 213 bodies have been discovered. We do not know the exact number of those injured, but we speculate it to be much higher then the body count…_

**9:12 A.M.**

Hartley Rathaway stood next to a support column next to a row of video poker machines. He nervously fingered the Petrie dish he had in his pocket. He really wasn't ready for this. Of course, he wasn't ready when they hit the Tangiers either. God, that was horrible. He had never fired a gun in his life. Still hadn't. He had watched in horror as Waylon shot that pour woman in the head. Then, as they were leaving, Waylon, Neal, and Albrecht opened fire on the crowd. Hartley was horrified. He had never seen such gross brutality in his life. The way they talked afterward…they were thrilled. Exhilarated, really.

What had he and Ollie gotten themselves into? Yeah, they were best friends, and Ollie really needed the cash. This, however, was more then what he bargained for. When they were offered the job, they were told it was going to be a way to get rich. He should have realized something was wrong when they each received a large sum of money _before_ they hit the casino. Then, they didn't really steal anything but people's lives. When he voiced his concern to Ollie afterward, Waylon had overheard.

"_You've got a problem, Hart? You thinkin' of bailing on us?"_

"_No! No, not at all! I was just worried. I mean, aren't the cops going to hunt us down or somethin'? And what about Braun?"_

_Waylon sneered. "The cops are morons. Besides, Roland says he's got that part covered. And Braun won't have any idea what's going on until it's too late." He then got right in Hartley's face. "My only concern is _you_, pal. It's too late to be gettin' cold feet."_

_Hartley gulped. "I'm fine. I swear."_

_The big man smiled maliciously. "Good, cause I got somethin' for ya to do."_

Now here he was, about to kill people. Of course, Waylon had kindly informed him that he was already an accessory to murder. What more did he have to lose?

'Oh, God!' he thought to himself. 'I can't do this!'

His watch started beeping. It was 9:15.

**9:30 A.M.**

Tina took a deep, invigorating breath. She tried to shift her position, but she was slightly constricted. However, she wasn't to concerned about it. After all, she was being wrapped up in the big, strong arms of her loving husband.

The married couple were lying on their couch, each enjoying the others company. Tina felt so warm and content with Warrick's arms holding her. They had been like this for almost an hour. After so long of feeling alone in this marriage, she felt complete.

She wasn't ready to admit this, not even to herself, but if Warrick didn't do _something_ then she would have seriously considered divorce. All she wanted in a marriage was an equal. Someone who cared as much for her as she would for them. For the last several months though, it felt like she was caring the burden. While private practice would be a shift in her career (she had dreams of being a Chief of Medicine or at least on the hospital Board of Directors) she would still find some enjoyment in it. She wasn't sure if she could make the hours work, however. She wasn't aware of any private practitioners who worked from ten at night until six.

Now with Warrick looking into switching shifts, she could make it work. And that made her happy. She could hopefully now begin to really start a family…

A sudden wave of nausea came over her. Groaning he quickly leapt off of the couch and ran to the bathroom. Warrick, now aware of his surroundings, watched her with concern.

"Baby? You alright?"

The sound of retching answered him. He was about to go check on her, when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the id, he sighed. It just had to be Grissom.

* * *

**9:15 A.M.**

It was time. Hartley took out his Petrie dish filled with white powder. After a quick glance around the area, he knelt down next to the column. Ever so gently, he place the dish down and took of the lid. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small match book. He struck a match. Just as he was about to drop it on the powder, a large explosion erupted on the opposite side of the room.

Screams broke out over the crowd of people. Card tables were pushed over as the masses attempted to get away from the flying smoke and debris. Hartley's head swung around to see what was happening, match forgotten in is hands. Suddenly, a second explosion occurred south of Hartley. This one was much larger than the first. Metal and glass flew through the air. A jagged piece of glass pierced Hartley's hand. Jerking away in pain, he dropped the match.

He watched, in what appeared as slow motion, as the match fell onto the powder. His eyes widened. Turning away, he tried running through the mob of screaming, terrified people moving toward him. A third blast went off. Several people, no longer whole, went flying as debris. He was able to get several feet away as the dish behind him exploded. The force threw him to the ground. He felt something wet spray over his back.

As he reached behind him, he was worried that he was injured. Pulling his hand back, he saw it was covered in blood. Yet, he felt no pain. Turning his head, he realized that was because it wasn't his. A women's torso, separated just below the ribcage, was positioned next to him. Blood poured out of it and began to pool around him.

Eyes wide in fear, and feeling bile churn in his gut, Hartley got to his feet as quickly as he could. The room was filled with dust and smoke. There was a large glow coming from where the third explosion occurred. Something had caught fire. Then the sprinkler system came on and began to flood the room with water. The dust began to settle, allowing him to see more of the room. People were scrabbling all over the place. He looked down and saw a man screaming as the mob stepped over him. Blood was pouring from his mouth and ears. A women, probably a waitress, ended the man's plight when her heel jammed into his neck.

The fire refused to die. Something, probably a broken electrical unit or gas line, was feeding it. It jumped away from the floor and unto the ceiling. Sparks flew from somewhere to his right. Suddenly, all the lights died in the room. The glow intensified as the fire took off. It had found the small bar located not far away and was feeding on the alcohol. Hartley could hear the screams of the wounded people who were trapped in that area. Yet, no one moved to help them. Several screams turned horrific as the people who produced them were immolated.

The masses turned toward the light coming from outside. They pushed and shoved to get out. Hartley stared in wonder as a man whose face was half eaten away. Another was yelling at someone to help him. His arm was gone. Lying next to a turned over card table was an older man crying over the body of an older woman. A slot machine appeared to have landed on her chest.

Hartley stopped suddenly and bended over to vomit. He had to get out of here. He joined in he pushing and shoving until he got closer to the door. The illusion of fresh air kept him going, until he was pushed over and people started walking over him. The image of the man with a stiletto embedded in his throat crept into his mind. That wasn't going to happen to him. He was going to get out of this. With every ounce of strength he pushed himself up from the ground, knocking a few people down in the process.

Over the shouts and screams, a soft creaking noise was taking place from where one of the support columns stood. Hartley was closing in on the exit, when the column gave. Plaster and tile rained onto the crowd below as it collapsed. Hartley looked up as the massive pillar fell toward him. Parts of the ceiling came with it, opening up a whole unto the second floor. He put his hands up in a futile attempt to block the large object.

It collided with the people below it. Hartley crashed to the ground. A sharp pain erupted throughout his body, only to disappear entirely. Blood began to drip out of his mouth. Eyes wide with fear, he tried to focus on the light. The door was only several feet away. Or so it appeared. He wasn't sure. Breathing became hard. Each gasp became shorter, his eyes still focused on the light. After only a couple more gasps, however, his breathing stopped. He couldn't hear the people anymore. The light had disappeared. A blood soaked twenty dollar bill floated through the air and landed next to his lifeless eyes.

* * *

A/N: Hi. Um...yeah. I'm going to apologize for two things. A: Sorry if it was to bloody. B: Sorry if it wasn't bloody enough. I originally was going to have a massive gore-fest here. Then I didn't want to. After seeking advice (I love you Harper!), I decided to go with a middle ground. I just couldn't tap into my evil side for this scene. I blame my attending church this morning and doing a mass reread of 'The Day Before You' this weekend. It threw off my mojo.

Oh, and there is someone mentioned here that you've seen before. Not necessarily from this story either.

I also want to thank Thomas X Moore for pointing out the error I made. If I write something that seems blatantly wrong, tell me. I'll fix it.


	14. Fallout

Chapter 14: Fallout

Brass rubbed his eyes. It had been a grueling three hours since he arrived at the scene. He had never seen anything quite like this. It wasn't the worst sight ever, but it was in his top ten. It reminded him of a bombing he witnessed during Vietnam. An incident he wasn't keen on remembering.

The last of the survivors was already gone. He was thankful over not having to look at another screaming, barely alive burn victim. That was what the majority of survivors were. The fire had encompassed the entire building and anyone inside became fuel. It made him sick to his stomach.

Opening his eyes, he saw various investigators crawling all over the scene. Ecklie had called in everyone from day, swing, and night shift. He felt bad for them. Brass's job involved the hunting down of suspects and other people of interest. He didn't have to dig through piles of smoldering debris and charred human remains. They were all looking for the same thing: the source of the explosions.

Taking a deep breath, he walked closer to the building. Standing just on the inside of where the entrance used to be was Grissom. The man was staring off into space, not really focused on anything.

"Gil," Brass greeted. "How are you doing?"

Grissom looked away from the blackened room. "Fine."

"You sure?"

Grissom was silent. Several seconds past until he spoke. "I don't understand people."

Brass nodded his head. "Join the club. Have you found anything?"

"Surviving witnesses said that each blast came from a separate corner in the main room. We're focusing on those areas."

"Any luck?"

Grissom shrugged. "We might have found some kind of residue. Won't know for sure until the lab analyzes it." Silence past between them again. It was comfortable. Just two men who had witnessed too much in their lives lamenting the idea of adding more to that list.

Continuing to stare at the smoking ruins, Grissom spoke. "You ever seen anything like this, Jim?"

Brass thought about the question. He had seen a lot. But that wasn't what Gil was asking. It wasn't the scene he was talking about. Gil was wondering if he had ever seen such a careless disregard for life. The combination of both the Tangiers and Pikes.

"No. Jersey had its fair share of crap. Mob hits and dirty cops. Nothing this bad, though. I mean, sure, we had a few bombings of abortion clinics. But those were statements. An attack against a taboo ideal. This was about bloodshed. 'How many people can we take out,' sort of thing."

Grissom ran his hand over his beard. "I don't get people."

With a deep breath, Grissom began walking into the mess. Brass quickly glanced around and structure. Odd creaks and groans echoed from different corners of the building. He looked over at Grissom.

"Are you sure you should be going in there?"

Grissom stopped. He half turned his head toward the detective. "My team is in there."

* * *

Nick carefully moved a piece of ceiling from a roulette table. His face was dirty, marked by several black streaks. The blue coveralls he was wearing over his clothes were caked in building remains. The smell of stale, smoky air combined with charred flesh was slowly seeping through the mask covering his nose and mouth. It was beginning to make him sick.

It was times like these that made him hate his job. Maybe not hate…dislike. He was really starting to dislike his job. He also felt guilt. He had seen pictures of the Tangiers. Now he was somewhat grateful that the majority of bodies were burned to a crisp. After he thought that, guilt swept over him. Now he was beginning to dislike himself.

The sound of footsteps crunching over the ground made him look away from what might have been a finger on the roulette wheel. He blinked his eyes, trying to get the smoke induced haze out of them. Once his vision was clearer, he focused in on Catherine walking over to him. The reddish blond hair of hers was tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing the same coveralls as he. Her face was unreadable, partially due to the identical mask covering half of it.

"Hey, Cath."

"Nick," Catherine responded. "How's it coming?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Probably not good."

Catherine nodded her head in agreement. "Up for a break?"

Nick glanced around the scene. Warrick and Sara were busy doing their own things while various CSI's from the other shifts worked as well. They even had Sofia and Ecklie on the scene as consults.

"I guess a five minute break wouldn't hurt."

If he could see under her mask, he would have noticed the satisfied grin on Catherine's face.

They cautiously began to walk out of the building. Each step created a soft crunch as the pressure of their weight shattered the brittle debris that covered the floor. Catherine was leading the way with Nick following closely behind. He was slightly curious about the manner in which she walked. It was as though she were on some sort of mission.

Once outside, Catherine walked past a few of the cops who were keeping the media at bay. Nick diligently kept up. Although, he couldn't explain why he was suddenly following her like a puppy. It had something to do with that walk.

That's when he figured it out. She had something to tell him. Or ask him. Either really. He prayed it didn't have anything to do with Greg. While he did enjoy having her around to talk to about this, he still wasn't thrilled when she dragged him kicking and screaming out of the closet. His pace slowed as he realized he wasn't in the mood to talk about this.

Catherine led them over to where their vehicles were parked. They had already discarded their masks and gloves at this point. Reaching into a cooler in the back of her van, Catherine pulled out two bottles of water. Handing one to Nick, she took a large swig from her own. Nick eyed her suspiciously. She raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked.

"Let's have it," Nick ordered. "I know you want to talk about something. So, what is it?"

The redhead took another sip of water. She absently watched the particles of saliva swish around in the clear liquid. Without looking up, she simply stated a comment. "I had a visitor this morning."

It was Nick's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Who?"

"I think her name was Mari. Mari…something. Oh! McCabe." All this was spoken without much emotion. More like she was just commenting on the final score of a sports game she didn't care about.

However, she did get a certain amount of delight as the blood drained out of Nick's face. 'Good,' she thought.

Nick didn't expect this. He had planned on going over to Catherine's house after he was done with Sara. She was his confidante after all. Now, Miss McCabe had beaten him to it. The worst part, however, was that he wasn't able to prepare Catherine. She could have said anything. Fear crept up within him.

"Why didn't you tell me, Nick?" Catherine asked. There was a bit of hurt in her voice.

The Texan's eyes darted around the parking lot. He knew that without a good answer, she would probably do something to him. Something bad. When he couldn't think of a reasonable excuse, he resigned himself to his fate.

"I don't know."

She narrowed her eyes. "You don't know? Christ, Nicky! I thought we were close. I thought we were over keeping things from each other. I can understand the Greg thing, but this!? Come on! You should have come to me. I of all people could have helped you out."

"I know. I just…wanted to keep it quiet for now. Until I found out…" Then Nick furrowed his brow. "Step back a sec, Cath. What about you?"

She huffed. "What about me?"

"You're one to talk about keeping things secret. How is everything with Warrick?"

Catherine's eyes widened. "How did you…?"

"I'm a trained observer. Besides, while I might have my own troubles, I've noticed the cold front that has developed between you two."

She looked away. "It's nothing. Ancient history." Her eyes flew back to Nick. "This is about you, Nick. Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to. Grissom already knows and I talked to Sara this morning. I was going to tell you after, I swear. Then…" He gestured over to the remains of the casino.

She followed his hand, then sighed. "I still wish you had told me sooner. Given me time to prepare."

Nick smiled and touched her shoulder. "Hey, I'm still trying to prepare. I'm scared here, Cath. Really scared. What if it doesn't work out? I didn't want you guys to feel bad for me. It wasn't personal. Are we good?"

Catherine returned the smile. "Yeah, we're good. If you have any questions, ask me."

Nick said he would and then thanked her.

* * *

Sofia stood near a collapsed wall along the outer perimeter of the building. Next to her was Ecklie. Both of them were on the scene as back-up. Due to the immense nature of the scene and the enormous amount of evidence that would need to be collected, they needed every hand on deck.

The former colleagues stood silently next to each other. Yet, there was no awkwardness to it. They had managed to work past their differences not long ago. In retrospect, Sofia laughed at the nature of their disagreement.

She used to be his right hand. At the time, she didn't realize what that meant. Only through further interactions with the other shifts, did she discover what everyone thought of her. To be Ecklie's right hand meant she was in his pocket. She was reduced to nothing more than a lackey. How wrong they were. Sofia couldn't remember how many times she faced off against her supervisor over cases. Conrad was all about the lab. The good of the lab. Sofia, by contrast, sought justice. Seeing a case all the way through was her greatest goal. She would often argue with Conrad when he would attempt to rush a case to closure. She couldn't even recall how many occasions Ecklie had threatened to suspend her.

There was one thing that Ecklie couldn't argue with her about, though. She was skilled in her job and she knew how to play politics. As Day Shift's assistant supervisor, Sofia acted as the buffer between her team and Ecklie. This fact was not commonly known. Everyone knew of Conrad's ambition. None realized how extreme they were at the time. It would have been nothing for the man to throw a member of his team under the bus if it suited his advancement. So many times she insulated the team from his ambitious drive. She never considered, however, that she could get run over as well.

After Conrad's ascent to the position of assistant lab director, many considered Sofia a sure thing as Day Shift supervisor. Yet, his ambition once again got in the way. For years he harbored some delusional belief that Gil Grissom was as cutthroat and driven as he was. That thought alone would make Sofia chuckle. It wasn't funny, however, when Ecklie made his belief into a paranoid state of mind. His personal war against the politically tone-deaf Entomologist resulted in several casualties. Perhaps the worst of which, was Sofia herself.

While she was sure Night Shift had suffered due to being split up, they still remained together. Catherine received the position of Swing Shift Supervisor and held on to two of her Night Shift colleagues. Grissom retained his post and still had the other two team members. Sofia was demoted and exiled. Her career had taken a major u-turn.

The rest is well known around the lab and PD. She transferred over to Homicide. Things remained frosty between Ecklie and herself for almost a year following her demotion. It wasn't until after the incident with Elicia Morgan that their cold war began to defrost. What she found afterward, was surprising. Conrad had changed. She wasn't sure how or when, but he changed. He no longer viewed the lab as the single entity he had before. He now saw the people within.

She glanced at the man standing next to her. His eyes held the lazy gleam they always seemed to carry. Yet, they were darting back and forth, carefully watching his investigators scrutinize the scene. Before, she knew he would be watching for a mistake that could jeopardize the integrity of the lab. Now, she wasn't sure whether he was watching for that, or for hazards that could endanger his CSI's.

"Something interesting, Curtis?" Ecklie asked when he caught her staring.

Sofia smiled underneath her face mask. "Trying to figure that out, Conrad."

Ecklie looked at her. "Funny," he replied dryly.

They both turned back to the scene. Neither wanted to admit that they had been away from field work far too long and were a little rusty. They were only here as consultants due to orders from the Sheriff. Several more minutes of silence passed before Ecklie broke it.

"How is everything?" he asked.

Without looking, Sofia shrugged. "Okay."

Ecklie nodded as he continued to stare straight ahead. "You sure?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He blinked. "Just figured that you would be under some stress. Especially after that thing with Bell."

A tiny smile cut away at the corner of her mouth. "Are you concerned about my well being, Conrad? That's not like you. You show this kind of concern with your employees?"

Ecklie didn't respond. Instead he appeared to be deep in thought. Silence enveloped them again. Sofia just sighed, knowing he probably wouldn't answer. Yet, she was still learning that the man held a few surprises.

"Just so you know, the lab would take you back."

This time she did turn her head to him. "What?"

"Incase you're dissatisfied in uniform. I would hire you back."

Her mouth fell open. "Your serious?"

Conrad shrugged. "You're a skilled investigator. One of the best, actually."

Before she could respond, she heard someone call out for assistance. Ecklie sighed and strolled out to meet with the inexperienced CSI from swing. He never looked back at her.

Sofia couldn't believe her ears. After the transfer, she felt she had burned her bridges. Even after their apparent reconciliation, she never considered that Ecklie would want her back. She was unhappy at PD, though. This would be something to think about.

* * *

Grissom was busy turning a thought over and over in his mind. His eyes were fixed on Catherine, the source of his dilemma. Well, maybe not the source. More like a factor. One that deals directly with the problem on his mind. Luckily, his problem has a name: Braun.

He had had dealings with Sam Braun several times in the past. None of them good as they all related to some case or another. Braun was always a suspect, or at least was believed to be involved. Despite his apparent 'helpfulness' during each case, Grissom always felt the man knew more than he was telling.

Now was such a time. The current string of attacks made Braun appear as a victim. One thing he always remembered, however, was to never jump ahead of the evidence. While the evidence suggested at this point that Braun was indeed a victim, nothing precluded him as a person of interest either.

Which brought Grissom to his problem. He needed to find out what Braun knew. To get that info, he needed someone that the mogul would trust. Catherine, as a close friend and daughter, was perfect. Except for the fact that her presence could jeopardize the case if things soured with Braun. But to find out if there were any holes in his story, Grissom needed Catherine.

He had already spoken with both Jim and the Sheriff. While Jim was reluctant to use her, Sheriff Atwater was on board. Rory Atwater didn't much care for Braun or old-style Vegas. While he attended fundraisers and philanthropic events held by the man, he never went to a social event. His Undersheriff was more than happy to go in his place. This was one of the things that Grissom liked about the man. While he was a shrewd politician, he still remembered his job was focused on law and justice. The legal kind, not the mob version. Any chance to get one up on Braun was appealing to the Sheriff.

Using Catherine, though, left a foul taste in Grissom's mouth. He knew what he had to do, but he could still find a way around it. If he asked her, she could simply refuse. He doubted she would though.

By this time, his feet had carried him over to his right hand. Catherine was busy helping Nick clear a roulette table. Grissom approached them cautiously.

"How's it going?" he asked.

Nick only shrugged. Catherine sighed. "As pleasant as always," was her reply.

"Catherine, can I speak to you for a moment?"

She looked at him quizzically, but nodded her head. They took a few steps away from Nick.

"What is it, Gil?"

"I need you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked nonchalantly. Secretly she was thrilled with the possible chance of getting out of here.

Grissom took a deep breath. "I need you to go talk to Sam."

Her eyes flashed. The rest of her face was covered by the mask. "What?! Gil, no." She shook her head vigorously.

"Catherine, we need to know what he knows."

She threw he hands up in disgust. "I told you before, I'm done with him."

He looked at her, his expression blank. "Before, you were eager to get close. What happened?"

"Nothing. Well, besides my mother and Sam's odd behavior, nothing. Besides, Grissom, you know this could jeopardize the case. Conflict of interest and all that."

"Hang on. Odd Behavior?"

Catherine shrugged. "He's just been acting a little off. Who wouldn't given what's going on." She cocked her head as she looked at him. "Wait a moment, you weren't eager to let me contact Sam before. Now you're changing your tune." She continued to glare at him. "You're using me."

"Catherine…" Grissom began.

"That's it," she continued. "You're using me to get to Sam.' A smile crossed her face. She couldn't believe it. "Gil, of all the…" She couldn't finish the sentence. "You know what? I'm out."

Grissom blinked. "Excuse me?"

Catherine began walking away. "I'm out. As far as I'm concerned, this case is no longer part of my workload. Just by being here, I compromise the evidence. I'm out." Without a word, she stepped out of the charred building and began walking toward her vehicle, ripping off her mask and gloves on the way.

Grissom sighed. Now what was he supposed to do? He tuned back toward the scene. Nick was staring at him confused. Grissom had a sudden thought and raised his eyebrow at the younger man.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the delay. Needless to say, I dislike hospitals.

Anyway...I've got nothing. I'm extremely tired and I really have nothing to comment on. Except that I love reviews. Please send me some love. (hope that didn't sound too needy)


	15. Broken Hearts

Chapter 15: Broken Hearts

Mandy watched with a sick fascination as her friend not only allowed tears to run down her face, but being able to threaten anything and anyone with bodily harm while doing so. It was like watching a building burn to the ground. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Wendy was pacing across the living room like a caged beast. She had arrived about ten minutes ago, after a rather cryptic and alarming phone call. All Mandy knew was that Wendy was distressed. And people wondered why she didn't go out into the field.

The constant back and forth on her carpet made Mandy worry about wear and tear. Action needed to be taken. Without a word, she gracefully stood up and gently took Wendy by the shoulders. Her friend didn't even seem to notice as she was guided to the brown, faux leather couch. Mandy was at first relieved that her carpet would be spared a early demise. Then the throw pillows were discovered.

As if it were a natural reflex, her disgruntled guest thrust out a hand and grabbed one of the treasured objects. Mandy had made the pair back in college. It was a project she did with her roommate. One pillow had her initials on them, the other had her roommates. Somewhere out in the world, there was an identical pair. Well, not anymore. Wendy compulsively twisted and stretched the fluffy mass and it was ripped in half. Cotton fibers scattered everywhere. It was also the pillow that carried Mandy's initials. Inside, she could feel her soul cry.

With much trepidation, Mandy attempted to breach the heated silence. "So, what's the problem?"

Wendy sniffed. "Greg," was all she said.

Behind her glasses, Mandy's eyes narrowed. Of course it was Greg. She was definitely going to take out her anger over her fallen keepsake on the young man. That was a promise.

"What did he do?"

"He…we…ARRGH!" Wendy screamed as she jumped up from the couch. Immediately, she began pacing again.

Mandy quickly got up and tried to calm her down. "What did he do?" she repeated.

"He called me things. Nasty, hurtful thing. Then he dumped me off at my apartment like I was garbage. He broke up with me!"

"Why? You guys were great together. You never had any fights before."

Wendy huffed. "I know this will come off like I'm twelve, but he started it!"

Mandy raised an eyebrow. "What did he do?"

"He was being a complete asshole! He blamed me for seeing Dr. Cross. I only gave him the _option_. He called me a control freak! I am not a control freak! Say I'm not a control freak!" Wendy demanded.

Mandy only nodded her head. She didn't have the guts to say anything else.

Wendy continued. "Then he went off on how therapists are a complete waste of time. Made some crack about how if you divide the word 'therapist', it becomes 'the rapist.' Said I was trying to rule his life. The only major decision I made was which apartment we'd move into. Like I would seriously move into his! It's a pig sty!"

Mandy looked up, surprised. "You guys are moving in together?"

"Were!" Wendy corrected. "We were going to move in together."

"Well that settles it," Mandy declared. She walked over to her purse and grabbed her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to call that jerk boyfriend of yours and tell him off. No one treats a friend of mine like that. To lash out at you unprovoked like that is inexcusable." Mandy began looking through her phone numbers for the desired digits.

"Wait!" Wendy cried. She snatched the phone out of Mandy's hand. "You can't call him!"

"Why not? He deserves to get berated for that." Wendy remained silent. Mandy arched an eyebrow. "It was unprovoked, right?"

Wendy looked away from her friend. "Not entirely…"

"What did you do?"

"I may have called him a Momma's boy."

Mandy thought that statement over. Unfortunately, she was forced to agree. "Is that what got him riled up? Honestly, that isn't so bad."

"Well, after he got angry about the therapist thing, I might have called him something else."

"What?" Mandy asked, curious about what might have set Greg off.

"A coward."

Mandy blinked. "A coward?" Wendy nodded. "A coward," the bespectacled woman repeated softly.

Silently, Mandy stepped toward her friend. With a grim expression on her face, she politely slapped Wendy across the cheek. Her stunned friend looked at her in shock and awe.

"You slapped me?!"

"Wendy, you know you're one of my closest friends, right. Well, what you said was one of the most hurtful things you could have said to that man. He has survived two horrible events in the course of his career. One right there in the lab. Yet everyday he gets up and goes out to do it all over again. Not for himself, but for others. I know, I've worked with him for years. You weren't here when the explosion happened. It changed him. For him to face his demons everyday isn't cowardice. It's bravery. Pure and simple. To call him a coward is worse than that slap I gave you. It was a kick to the groin."

By the time Mandy finished, Wendy had tears in her eyes. Rubbing her cheek, she sat down on the couch. The cell phone was clutched unnoticed in her hand. Her mind was racing over what was said, both now and before.

"I'm a horrible person," Wendy muttered.

Mandy sat down next to her and began rubbing her shoulder. "You're not horrible. You were just caught up in your emotions."

"Why would I say those things?" Wendy continued, more to herself than to her friend. "I mean, who says that to the man they love? God, I've ruined everything."

"You love him?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Like it matters now."

"Call him."

"What?" Wendy asked incredulously. "He wouldn't answer."

Mandy put her hand over the cell phone and pushed it closer to her friend. "If he cares about you, he'll answer."

Wendy looked down at he phone. With a deep breath, she flipped it open.

* * *

Warrick knew that he couldn't delay any longer. As much as he was loath to do it, it needed to be done. His marriage might depend on it. Walking outside of the burned ruins he saw Grissom standing alone, off to the side. He was staring into space the way only Grissom knew how.

As he approached, Warrick began to feel trepidation in his steps. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do this. He was changing everything with this action. Well, everything he had planned on. In one motion, he was going to break up his family. His work family. The only real one he's had since his grandmother died. But perhaps this was for the best. They all seemed to be drifting apart anyway.

"Grissom," Warrick said as he neared the older man, "I need to ask you something."

Grissom made a noise of acknowledgment, not looking away from the unseen object that caught his attention.

"Actually, it's a request."

His supervisor's eyes looked over at him. "Go ahead."

"Well, I'd like to request a transfer." Warrick stated this as bluntly as he could.

Grissom's eyes narrowed slightly as he gave his full attention to his protégé. "A transfer?"

"Yeah. I don't care where to. Days, Swing, it doesn't matter." Warrick struggled not to break.

"Can I ask why?"

Warrick sighed. "I feel it would be for the best."

Silence enveloped the two men. Grissom was staring at his prized pupil, his mind busy trying to piece together this sudden shift in the status quo. Finally, the puzzle appeared to be solved.

"Your marriage?" he asked, as though he were confirming a theory.

Warrick nodded. "Yeah."

Grissom sighed. "Are you sure, Warrick?"

He wasn't sure. But he knew it had to be done. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The older man looked back toward the building. "I'll see what can be done. Ecklie shouldn't have a problem with it though. However, any transfers would have to wait until this case is solved. With Catherine no longer on it, I'm going to need every hand on deck."

Warrick did a double take. "Catherine's not on the case? What happened?"

Grissom shrugged. "Conflict of interest. Frankly, Warrick, this is a bad time."

"I know," Warrick replied. His mind had already shifted gears over to Catherine. "Look, if it's going to be too much trouble, you can just refuse it."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "How would your wife respond to that?"

Warrick looked away, refusing to answer. Grissom sighed again and took a step closer to him.

"You know I don't like getting involved in any of your personal lives. I hate intruding. I especially dislike when the opposite occurs and your personal lives intrude at work. This is different, I'm afraid." Warrick looked at his supervisor, interest piqued. "Warrick, I know how much being here, with this team, is important to you. And you are important to this team. If you were to leave, we would miss you. But you have to ask yourself, what is more important?"

Warrick's eyes shifted toward the ground. Grissom continued.

"I've seen plenty of relationships fail because of this job. I'm not saying that you can just shrug off your responsibilities. But you need to find a balance. I know that things aren't going so well for you right now."

Warrick's gaze returned to Grissom. His eyes were filled with confusion.

"Why do people think I'm blind to those around me?" Grissom asked rhetorically. "I've noticed how Greg has been happier and more energetic these past few months. I've noticed how Catherine has grown distant and a little bitter. I've noticed how you're often distracted at work."

"I've been distracted?"

"Not enough to effect your performance, but enough. Look, if this is what you need, then I'll do it. You just have to tell me with certainty that you want a transfer."

Having said his piece, Grissom stared directly into Warrick's eyes. Was he absolutely sure that this was something he wanted to do? This wasn't like before when Ecklie split the team. This was him going solo. No Nick, no Grissom, no Catherine. He suddenly thought about what Grissom had said. Catherine had become bitter and distant. Of course she had. He was aware of it. Was it because of him, though? She had said that there wasn't going to be a problem, that he was just a fantasy. A fantasy that she had to see every day."

"_Why are you here?"_ That was what Catherine had said when he went to her house that night after his fight with Tina. She had a look in her eyes. One he couldn't place, until now. It was a mixture of longing and desperation, hope and defeat. In a way, it killed that spark of life she always carried. And it was because of him.

"Yes, Grissom. I would like a transfer."

* * *

Nick bitterly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of his truck. The cab was filled with the noise of some country band he couldn't recall. Probably because, at the moment, he didn't care. His dark eyes with fixed on the road ahead of him. He had a new assignment.

It wasn't the main task that Grissom had given him that was the problem. He was supposed to meet with Sam Braun. Catherine was off the case and because he had already worked a little with the man, it was figured that he would be best. No, what ticked him off was the side mission he was given. He had to drive to Greg's apartment and find out why he wasn't answering his phone.

He had been trying so hard to distance himself from the younger man. That was proving difficult since they worked on the same team. Driving to his apartment, however, was not in his playbook. Technically, he should be driving _away_ from his apartment. Great.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nick pulled into a space next to a silver Jetta. Greg's car. He got out of his truck and slammed the door. He knew he should going about this a different way, but he honestly didn't know how. In his mind, the best way to un-love someone was to learn to hate them.

With this in mind, he quickly made his way to the door of his colleague. With a deep breath, he proceeded to pound on the door. He waited for several seconds, then pounded again with his fist. If he could come off as obnoxious, maybe Greg would learn to hate him too. As much as it pained him to do so, he knew it was for the best.

After the third round of loud banging, the door finally flew open. Nick had to catch his breath. Standing there, looking quite disheveled, was Greg. He was wearing what looked like the undershirt from his last shift and pale green boxers. Nick had to force himself to stop staring at his friend's legs. They were thin, but strong in appearance. A slight paleness colored the two limbs, suggesting they didn't see daylight too often. A light amount of hair was present, just enough to say that they belonged to a man. In his mind, Nick thought they were perfect.

"What the fuck do you want?" Greg slurred. It became apparent that the man was drunk.

Nick rolled his eyes. "What the hell, Sanders? Have you been drinking?"

Greg shrugged. "Why do you care?"

"Why haven't you answered your phone?"

"Why does it matter?"

Nick groaned. He wasn't in the mood to play a game of questionnaire. He shoved his way past the drunk and into the apartment. Amongst the dirty clothes and used dishes, he saw a bottle of tequila. An empty bottle of tequila.

"Christ, Greg. If Grissom finds out…"

Nick had been turning back toward the door as he spoke. He was cut off, however, by a fist connecting with his jaw. He stumbled over and fell on the ground. Surprise was overriding his anger at the moment as he looked up. Greg was glaring at him with bloodshot eyes.

'Note to self,' Nick thought, 'Greg is an angry drunk.'

Deciding that a fight with a drunken co-worker wasn't a good idea, Nick tried to defuse the situation. Knowing that standing back up might further antagonize the man, he remained on the ground. He had wanted Greg to dislike him, but not this much.

"Why did you hit me?"

"Cause it's your fault!"

"What's my fault?"

"Wendy."

Nick was now confused. Well, more so than he was already. "Wendy is my fault?"

"Yeah," Greg responded as though it were obvious.

"And why would you say that?"

"Because of you, she broke up with me."

Nick blinked. This was an interesting change. "She broke up with you?"

"Yeah! Maybe. I dunno."

Greg was no longer hovering over Nick. Instead he stumbled over to the couch and looked longingly at the empty tequila bottle. Sensing that the situation had calmed down some, Nick stood up.

"How does that involve me?"

Greg continued to stare at the bottle. "She was mad about something you did. Can't blame her, you've been a dick."

Nick knew what Greg was talking about now. "She broke up with you about that?"

"No." The response came out as though Nick were an idiot. "The fight we had afterward was why we broke up."

"And that had to do with me?"

"You started it. Then we went on about Dr. Cross and my apartment and my car and my clothes and my mom…"

"I get it," Nick cut in. "Wait, your mom?"

"She called me a Momma's boy. Jeez, like she isn't a Daddy's girl. You should hear the never ending phone calls she gives him three times a week. Well, if she calls me that, then I have a right to call her a control freak. And she _is_. God, and I might have been in love with her."

Nick stared at the drunken man. "You're in love with her?"

"Might have been," Greg corrected. "Pff, not any more."

His heart skipped a beat. "You don't love her anymore?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know."

This was something new. Nick wasn't sure what course of action her should take. Should he try to help his friend clear things up with his woman or should he try to take advantage of the situation? He stood staring at Greg who continued to stare at the bottle. His eyes were starting to get a little droopy. 'He is drunk after all,' Nick thought.

A small smile crossed his face as Nick made up his mind. He walked over to Greg and grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him up. The younger man gave in without a fight. Nick began to lead him down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked.

"The bedroom," Nick responded.

Once in the room, Nick gently laid Greg down on the bed. The Californian was lying on his stomach, his head facing away from Nick. The Texan stood staring at him. Then, he smiled.

Silently, Nick closed the door and walked down the hall, giving his friend time to sleep it off. He would call Grissom and inform him that Greg was feeling under the weather. Then, probably tonight, Nick could talk to Greg and find out exactly what had happened. Maybe he could help patch things up.

A phone began ringing somewhere in the living room. Rubbing his jaw, Nick saw the cell phone lying on the coffee table. Thinking it was Grissom, he picked up.

"Stokes," he said automatically.

"_Nick? Why are you answering Greg's cell?"_

'Shit,' thought Nick, 'it's Wendy.'

"Greg's not feeling well. I'm here checking up on him."

"_He's not well? He was fine earlier. What did you do?"_

Nick didn't like the accusation. He couldn't blame her though. "Nothing. He's drunk, alright."

"_Drunk? Oh, God! It's because of me, isn't it? I'll be right over. Nick, you still there?"_

"Yeah."

"_For what it's worth, I'm sorry about yelling at you earlier. But just so you know, I'm not in a very good mood, so I'd leave if I were you."_

Nick scowled. Then he chuckled softly to himself. Greg's girlfriend certainly was bold. "Alright, Wendy. I'm leaving now."

Hanging up the phone, Nick placed it back on the coffee table. Without making any noise, he left the apartment and continued on his primary assignment.

* * *

A/N: I had this chapter ready to go on Tuesday. Then my computer glitched on me and it was gone. All of my work was gone. I was so pissed. Then I couldn't find the desire to rewrite it. Obviously, I eventually did. So far, this is not turning out to be my month.

If anyone thought that I was going to seriously have Nick take advantage of Greg, then shame on you. Get your minds out of the gutter!

Anyway, hope you liked it. Oh! And I like reviews.


	16. Cubile Ophidia

Chapter 16: Cubile Ophidia

After many long, agonizing hours at the crime scene, Sofia was convinced that she would never get the smell of smoke out of her hair. She was also certain of the fact that she was going to die of boredom. The job of scene consultant meant that she would advise any CSI who was unsure how to process certain areas. Aside from a few rookies, however, no one required her assistance. Needless to say, she was done with this place.

She had just exited the building and walked over to her car. Leaning against it, she took off her mask and breathed in the beautiful, fresh air. As fresh as air could be downtown, anyway. The sky was now a golden color, the sun halfway to setting. It was now late afternoon, and it was turning into a really long day.

"Thought you'd like some coffee," a voice behind her said.

Turning her head to look beyond the roof of her car, she saw Vartann approaching her, two Styrofoam coffee cups in his hands. She smiled at the offered brew as he put forth one of the cups.

"Thanks," she replied.

Vartann nodded his head toward the scene. "How is everything going?"

She shrugged as she took a sip. "As well as can be expected. Must be nice to have the day off."

"I'm sure it is. I wouldn't know," he countered.

She looked at him. "You weren't here at the scene. What have you been doing?"

"There are still other aspects of this case that can be looked into, you know."

Sofia smiled. "Point taken. Let me guess, Pritchard?"

Vartann glared at his cup. "Pritchard. Not a single trace of the bastard. Gone. Just like that." He snapped his fingers for effect.

"No known contacts? No friends?" Sofia asked.

"Nope."

"Not even in the department?"

"Apparently, he wasn't very well liked. Or somebody is covering for him."

Sofia felt a chill run through her. "You think someone else from the department is involved?"

Vartann cast her a knowing glance. He then inched a little closer to her. "I'm sure of it," he whispered.

"Why are you telling me? How do you know that I'm not it?" Sofia asked. She was curious about this.

The male detective chuckled. "I just know, Sofia. There are usually certain tells one can see on a dirty cop. Investigating a known crooked officer isn't one of them," he said with a smile meant for her.

Sofia returned it. "Glad to see someone trusts me so much." Her words hid a deeper meaning.

The smile disappeared from Vartann's face. "I've always trusted you," he said softly.

They were standing close to each other. Too close. Sofia couldn't help but stare at him. He stared back. All the noise around them seems to have been silenced. The only thing that she was aware of was her surprisingly fast heart beat. Ever so slowly, she found her head creeping closer to his. His eyes drifted down to her lips.

The sound of a car pulling into the lot, tires crunching on debris, brought both detectives back to reality. They each took a step back from the other and avoided eye contact. Instead they focused on the car. Both cringed when the recognized the vehicle.

After stepping out of his car, Jeff McKeen looked around the area with squinted eyes. Catching sight of Sofia, he began walking quickly toward her. Vartann, not wanting to be around the man, decided to make a quick escape.

"I need to talk to Grissom. Have fun, Sofia," he said with a small smile on the corner of his mouth.

"Gee, thanks Tony," Sofia replied.

As Vartann walked away, McKeen came closer. He nodded toward Sofia and gave her a smile. She wasn't sure if she liked it.

"Detective Curtis," he greeted. "Anything to report?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. We bagged some items as well as what we believe is residue left from the incendiary. Won't know anything until we run it through the lab."

"Good, good," McKeen stated. He seemed unconcerned with the whole thing.

"You here to check over the scene?" Sofia asked.

"Nah, just on my way to a meeting and thought I'd drop by. You appear to be handling things here pretty well, anyway."

Sofia raised an eyebrow. "Captain Brass is in charge of the scene, actually. I'm here as a consult for the lab."

"Why is that?"

"Sir?" Now she was confused. "The sheriff requested that I assist the CSI's due to my experience as an investigator."

"I meant, why aren't you in charge of the scene?"

"Captain Brass is the highest ranking officer here," she stated as though it were obvious.

McKeen glanced at her sideways. "You ever think of moving up, Curtis?"

"Sir?"

"You're a good detective. I see a lot of…potential in you. I could help you. I know how to play the system. Trust me," he said with a grin.

"I'll have to think about it." This whole conversation made her uneasy. From his nonchalant attitude to the way his smile seemed serpentine left her feeling chilled.

"You do that. Remember, I scratch your back, you scratch mine." McKeen touched her shoulder, turned away and returned to his car.

Sofia didn't know what to make of it.

* * *

Meanwhile, Vartann saw Grissom next to Brass looking at some clipboard. It was apparently an inventory of items that had been taken back to be processed. There was sure to be a large amount and it all had to be catalogued.

"Afternoon, Grissom. Captain," he greeted the men.

"Hey, Tony," Brass responded. "What brings you by?"

"I have a request for Grissom."

"Oh? What can I do for you?" Grissom asked.

"I'm continuing the investigation into Daniel Pritchard. I was wondering if I could borrow someone from your team to assist me."

Grissom frowned. "I've already had one member of my team removed and another investigating a different angle of this case…"

"Which reminds me," Brass cut in. "I should probably go see how Stokes is doing in the belly of the beast."

Grissom blinked against the interruption. "I'm not sure if I can afford to relocate another one of my guys."

"Well," Vartann began, "This still pertains to the case. You have the other shifts covering this scene, as well."

"Did you have anyone particular in mind?" Grissom asked.

"Brown," came the response. "He's the one who first got clued into Pritchard. I think he could help me with my current lead."

"You have a lead?" Brass asked.

"An idea."

"Do you care to elaborate?" The captain inquired.

Vartann looked around. He knew he was in good company. He just wanted to make sure that no one else heard. "I have reason to believe that Pritchard wasn't acting alone. Someone else had to have been helping him. Someone within the department."

Brass's eyes grew dark. "Are sure, Tony? This isn't something to take lightly. You better be damn sure of this."

"I am, Jim. Something about this seems off. Pritchard wasn't smart enough to do what we believe he was doing alone."

"Which is what?" Grissom asked.

"Covering up this whole thing. He murdered Holt and I suspect that he was involved with the death of Rory Regan too."

Grissom furrowed his brow. "You have any evidence of that."

Vartann shook his head. "Nothing concrete. Just a hunch. That's why I need Brown. He'll be able to look through everything we've collected and hopefully piece together something. Maybe even get a hit on Pritchard along the way."

Grissom rubbed his chin. He really didn't like the idea of having one of his guys investigate police corruption. Something felt dangerous about the whole thing. He looked over at Brass.

"It's your call, Jim."

Brass set his jaw. "Listen, Tony. You need to tread carefully. I know how corruption works, and if this guy gets any hint that you're after him, he might not do what Pritchard did and run. He might come after you. Go ahead with your investigation, but keep it quite. Does anyone else know about this?"

"Just Detective Curtis, who I feel is reliable."

Grissom nodded. "I agree. I'll have Warrick meet you at the lab in about thirty minutes."

"Thanks," Vartann said, pleased.

* * *

The afternoon sun was beating down onto the ground just outside of the horse paddock. A thin bead of sweat dripped down from Nick's hairline onto his eyebrow. With an annoyed grunt, he swept the bit of moisture away. Closing his cell phone, he turned back to the man standing across from him.

Nick had never been to the Braun ranch before. It was a nice, prime piece of secluded property a few miles outside of Vegas. At first, Nick was a little surprised that a man like Braun would hold residence in such a rural environment. He did own a penthouse in the city (one worth several million dollars no less) but his primary home was this ranch. The more he thought about it though, the more it made sense. Braun had lived in Vegas before it was whatever it was today. Back then, the majority of property around Las Vegas was either desert or farmland.

Sam was staring at him. The older man's face was it's usual stone cut work of stoicism. Although, he appeared to hold something beneath. Nick just wasn't sure what though. Ever since his arrival, Sam had been relatively quiet. Apparently, he had retreated to his fortress of solitude after receiving word of the destruction of Pikes. Indeed, the man had barely said two words about the explosion. Whenever Nick had tried to question him, he just deflected the query.

"Problems, Nicholas?" Braun asked, referring to the phone call Nick had just received.

Nick sighed. "Not really." He was telling the truth. The phone call was from Ms. McCabe. She had told him that everything was going well. She didn't elaborate on her discussions with Grissom and Catherine, and apparently she didn't talk to Sara or Warrick. Nick hadn't listed Greg for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, she wanted him to meet with a psychiatrist. He had protested that, saying he was already seeing one. She wanted him to meet with one of her choosing though. The organization she worked for had several on retainer. Nick didn't feel like getting to know a new doctor. It had taken him long enough to open up to his current one.

"Are you sure? You don't seem very happy, right now." Braun continued to press Nick, probably an attempt to keep the conversation away from him.

"Just some personal matters. How about we keep the questions directed at you, Mr. Braun." Nick wasn't going to play his game willingly.

Braun frowned. "I prefer if you call me Sam, Nicholas. Why isn't Catherine here?"

"Catherine has other things going on right now."

The frown deepened on Sam's face. Nick figured the old man knew she was no longer on the case.

"Ah," Sam said. He remained silent for a few minutes. "How well do you know my daughter?"

"I don't see how that has anything to do with what happened this morning."

"Forgive me," Sam apologized. "It's not often I get a chance to hear about my daughter from a colleague instead of from her mother."

Sadness spread into Sam's eyes. Nick couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for the man. With his own personal dilemma on his mind, Nick decided to placate the older man.

"I like to think I know Cath pretty well," Nick began. "We've worked together for years. She's a great mom to Lindsey and she's probably one of my best friends."

"Yes, she has done a good job with Lindsey. Much better than that husband of hers could have," Sam stated with a hint of bitterness.

"You didn't like Eddie?"

Sam shrugged. "He wasn't right for Catherine. She was too good for him. Still, you know what they say: if _they _love 'em, _you_ have to love 'em." He chuckled. "You can't help who you fall in love with." The old man's eyes glistened as he got lost in thought.

"No, you can't," Nick whispered softly to himself.

The words weren't quiet enough. Sam's gaze turned toward Nick. "Something is bothering you, young man. I would be more than happy to lend you any kind of assistance, even if it's just an ear."

Nick shot him a suspicious glare. This only caused the old man to smile. "Catherine speaks very highly of you. And you're a stand up guy. In my book, that goes a long way."

Confusion flooded through Nick. Talking with this man was like talking to... he didn't know. Almost like dealing with the Devil. Nick was feeling extremely conflicted at the moment and he knew he had to get the conversation back on track.

"Sam, tell me about Pikes."

Braun closed his eyes and sighed. Slowly he opened them. "I'm desperately trying not to think about it. This was horrific and I've never seen anything like it. Honestly, I wish I knew why this is happening. One thing I do know is that whoever is behind this will pay dearly." This last sentence was spoken in a harsh whisper, more to himself than to Nick.

Something cold ran down Nick's spine. The look in Braun's eyes chilled him to the core. "Mr. Braun? Sam?"

"Don't worry about it, Nick," Sam said, his tone light again. "Just the ramblings of an old man. Now, why don't you come inside and have a drink. It's hot out here." He flashed Nick a charming smile. Nick's sudden realization of his own thirst forced him to acquiesce.

* * *

It was still afternoon; thus the nightclub was silent. The doors wouldn't open for two more hours and even then the people wouldn't start to show up until a few hours after that. If they showed up at all. But the locked doors held no meaning to Undersheriff McKeen as he let himself in. There were a few employees around. None were of any consequence. Without even a glance in their direction, McKeen quickly walked into one of the backrooms. Inside, he saw a few men waiting idly by.

He knew the name of only one of the men. The big guy, Waylon Jones. When McKeen had walked in, Jones instantly glared over at him. There was no love lost between the two. However, the big guy recognized the valuable service the Undersheriff provided and stayed out his way. Incidentally, McKeen immediately beckoned the man over with a nod of his head. Jones scowled but started toward McKeen. Along the way, he turned his head over to a blond-haired gentleman at a table who was holding his head between his hands.

"Quit bellyaching, Queen. Just be glad you weren't in that casino." The man's tone was without feeling. As he neared McKeen, his scowl deepened. "What do ya want?"

McKeen sneered at the man. "Where's Roland?"

Jones narrowed his eyes but pointed over his shoulder toward a closed door. Without a thank you, McKeen brushed past him and into the room. Sitting behind a relatively nice desk, sat a man in a fine gray suit. His hair was neatly trimmed, very professional, and appeared to have been pitch black once. Now, wisps of white peppered throughout. His skin tone was tanned with a hint of olive, suggesting a Mediterranean heritage. Lines of age criss-crossed across his face, betraying his real age. He looked up.

"Jeff," he greeted. His voice contrasted with his face, it was harsh. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm just here to ask a simple question," McKeen stated. He toyed with a paperweight on the desk. "What the hell happened?"

Roland shrugged. "A miscalculation."

McKeen blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Acetone Peroxide can be tricky. It hardly ever does what it's supposed to."

"Look, I don't really care about whatever thing you have against Braun. But you need to be a little more cautious. Blowing up buildings and killing hundreds of people isn't something I can easily cover up. Draw too much attention and the Feds might get involved. I had to really work to get the Sheriff not to call the FBI on this."

"Jeff, I don't really care," Roland said without feeling. His eyes, however, held a much darker emotion. "You're being paid to keep the cops off my back until this is done. Can you handle it, or not?"

McKeen glared at the man. He was really starting to hate him. "Yeah, I can handle it."

"Good. Can you do this without help, though?"

"You mean Pritchard? I got him in a safe place. He might still come in handy. As for help, I think I found someone who can give me a hand."

"I'm not paying for anyone else."

McKeen smiled. "Oh, don't worry. Chances are they won't even know they're helping me. It's good to have a fall guy, though."

Roland's eyes flashed. A small smile graced his lips as he looked at McKeen. "Yes, it is."

* * *

A/N: I now have a beta!! Many thanks to the beautiful Happyharper 13!!! (Any mistakes found are my own, not hers)

The chapter title translates roughly to serpent's nest. I like Latin and I'll be using it if a chapter title seems boring to me. The previous chapter to do this, Chapter 6: Otium Domesticus, translated to Domestic Bliss.

Please review. It really encourages me to keep writing.


	17. Shadow of the Day

Chapter 17: Shadow of the Day

"Alright," Warrick said, "Lay it out for me."

Vartann glanced up at the man before returning his gaze to the photos and papers laid out on the table in front of him. "Okay," he began. "We know that Pritchard killed Holt. However, based on Aker's account and the evidence you processed, we know it wasn't in self-defense. We also have reason to believe that he might be involved in the murder of Rory Regan as well.

"Really?" Warrick asked.

"No one can verify his whereabouts at the approximate time of the murder," Vartann explained.

Warrick made a noise of agreement. "Okay. What about Pikes?"

"Pritchard went AWOL before that whole thing hit the fan. I don't think he had anything to do with it though."

"What makes you think that?"

"It wouldn't make sense. He knew we were on to him. The best decision there was to stay low. Getting involved in a mess like that would have been stupid. Besides, I don't think we're going to be seeing him again anytime soon."

Warrick looked at the detective, confused. "What makes you think that?"

"Something in my gut. Granted, every cop in the city is looking for him. The explosion grabbed our attention, however. That was a perfect opportunity for Pritchard to flee or something."

"I'm confused. If we're not after Pritchard then why...?" Warrick finished his question by making small circles with his hand, imploring Vartann to correct his thought processes.

"Pritchard's a small fish. There is no way that he could do whatever he's been doing without help. Someone would have caught on sooner if he didn't have someone covering his ass."

"Whoa, hold on," Warrick pleaded. "You think someone from inside PD. Any ideas?"

"Nothing I feel confident about yet. But that's why you're here. We're going to piece together everything we have and try to extrapolate who else could be involved."

"Okay. What else have we got?"

"The video from the Tangiers showed eleven gunmen. Rory Regan was one of them. Holt was on duty at the time, but we know he was involved as their inside man. With him, that would make twelve people involved in the robbery. That's two down, ten to go."

"What about Pritchard?"

"He was on duty."

"So what's the connection?"

"There is only one reason a cop goes bad: money. Pritchard was getting paid for something. The question is what."

Warrick thought this over for a few seconds. What purpose could Pritchard have had? Then it hit him.

"Damage control," he said aloud. When he was met by the confused look on the detectives face, he proceeded to explain. "Whoever these guys are, they obviously don't trust each other. If one of them was caught, they must have been afraid that he would talk. Pritchard's job must have been to keep them all silent."

Vartann nodded. "It's possible that he could have heard about the hit we got on Regan. That's an interesting theory about their trust issues. Why would they be together? Money?"

The darker man shook his head. "No, we've already figured money isn't the primary target. Braun is. Nick is looking into that avenue."

The detective walked away from the table and began pacing around the room, his mind deep in thought. He stopped and looked at the CSI. "You have a theory?"

"I might." Warrick cleared his throat. "Someone has a grudge against Braun. He hired about a dozen guys to hit Braun where it hurt: his casinos. Prior to everything, he contacts Pritchard and presumably someone else to cover his ass. They hit the Tangiers with the only purpose being to cause chaos. However, someone got sloppy. Regan was discovered and Pritchard was called in. Same thing with Holt. Pritchard feels the heat and takes off. Even without Pritchard, this group strikes again and blows up Pikes. We don't know yet if any of the group was involved. Hell, we don't know who they even are. But if they still continued with their plan, then the loss of Pritchard was no big deal. I think you're right. Someone else is involved. Hopefully we'll get something from all the stuff we brought back from Pikes."

"Yours truly has already done so," came a voice from the doorway.

Both looked over to see Hodges smirking by the door. He held a piece of paper in his hand, waving it slightly, but obnoxiously.

"What've you got?" Warrick asked.

"Your incendiary. Acetone peroxide, or TATP."

"Which is what, exactly?" Vartann inquired.

Hodges smiled cheekily. "TATP is usually found as a white crystallized powder. It's highly unstable but has been used in acts of terrorism."

Vartann scoffed at the notion. "So now we're dealing with terrorists?"

"I do believe whoever your perps are could be classified as terrorists. They are using terror as a weapon." Hodges corrected. "But I don't think they're the type you're referring to. The Unabomber was a terrorist, after all."

The tech's tone was beginning to irritate Vartann. "Then who else would use it?"

"Hey, that's you guys' job to figure out. I will tell you this though; TATP is a commonly found by-product of industrial manufacturing."

"Great," Warrick whined. "Now all we have to do is figure out where someone can find industrial waste in this city. That should be easy."

Hodges only waved his hand and exited the room, his job complete. Warrick yawned and looked at his watch. He was surprised at how late it had gotten. Vartann saw the look on his face.

"It's been a long day. We can call it quits for now, get a good night's rest and start back again tomorrow."

Warrick agreed. "Yeah, rest would be good. Not now though. I've got to meet Nick for a beer. It's been awhile since we've done that. You want to come?"

"No, thanks," Vartann said with a smile. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm beat."

"Alright man." Warrick said. He began to collect the evidence when something crossed his mind. "Hey. Why me?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you choose me?" This was the one thing bothering Warrick. Vartann hadn't asked for just any member of the team. He had asked for him specifically.

He watched as Vartann shrugged. "You were the one who first saw through Pritchard. I was impressed. Figured you wouldn't mind giving me a hand. You don't mind, right?"

Warrick shook his head. "Nope. Don't mind at all."

* * *

Sam watched as Nick's truck drove away. He was standing by the window in his study, eyes gazing out over the road and the blackened skies in the distance. His thoughts, however, were all over the place. The incident at Pikes, surprisingly, was not at the top. Instead it was Nick. Even though he had only known the young man for a short time, he liked him. That wasn't something he had planned on.

He knew his relationship with Catherine had become strained. Even after he began seeing Lily again, he could feel the tension emanating from his daughter. Every time he went to touch Lindsey, Catherine would make a small, but somewhat noticeable motion, almost as though she wanted to stop him from getting close to his granddaughter. He wouldn't lie and say it didn't hurt. Any further loss in his family would be devastating for him.

While there had been many women in his life, his two great loves had always been Lily and Patricia. Part of the reason might have been that those two were the mothers of his children. He had always harbored strong feelings for Lily, but Patricia had been his wife, even though their marriage had been brief. Four years into the marriage, she had come home and discovered him with one of his showgirls. He had tried talk to her, but she wouldn't have it. She filed for divorce not long after. They agreed to share custody of their sons, but she would have nothing to do with him.

He had tried to do right by the boys. Tony had always been his favorite and he had been selected by Sam to succeed him in the empire. But Tony had fallen into the vices of the lifestyle. Drugs and women became his career. As disappointed as he was, Sam still couldn't bring himself to think ill of the boy. He hadn't known that his affection was so apparent though. His other son, Walt, was aware and had grown to resent Tony. The hatred was strong enough to make Walt act. Now, one of his sons was serving a life sentence and his other was six feet under.

Patricia had blamed him. She said that the sins of the father are visited on the sons. Then she slapped him. After the funeral, she disappeared. Apparently, she felt she had to leave the country in order to escape. Sam knew he could find her; he had the resources. But he wouldn't do that. She deserved her peace.

So he had to make amends with his first family. He had always known that Lily's child was his. But at the time, so many years ago, he hadn't been ready. He had been the biggest name in Las Vegas and he couldn't have been tied down with a family. He wasn't sure if Lily understood. She never spoke of it. Sam, however, had learned to love Catherine. All those times he stayed over, he couldn't help but be amazed by the little lady. He always made sure that she was safe in all of her activities. When Catherine started dancing, he made it crystal clear to her managers that she was to only dance. And when she graduated from UNLV and went into law enforcement, he had been incredibly proud. Finally, a Braun was doing something worthwhile with their life. After Tony's death, Sam had promised himself to stay close to his beloved daughter.

This is where Nick Stokes entered the picture. From the beginning, Sam knew he needed leverage to get back into Catherine's good graces. Who better than the man whose life he saved for the small price of a million dollars? For Catherine to ask meant that this young man was someone important in her life. If Sam could get his trust, than he would be that much closer to her.

He hadn't counted on actually growing to like Nick. He was just a tool for Sam to use and discard later. Yet there was something about him that affected Sam. In a way, Nick held many of the qualities Tony had had when he was younger, before the drugs and women.

Sam glared at the last point of where Nick's truck had been. Stokes was reminding him of Tony. The Tony he had loved best. And now, he didn't know what he was going to do about it. But he did have an idea.

A knock on the door brought Sam out of his thoughts.

"Come in," he hollered.

The door opened and Amon Tomaz walked into the room. He nodded pleasantly at Sam.

"Good Evening, Mr. Braun." The man's voice was surprisingly neutral. There was only the slightest hint of an accent; something European, possibly British.

"Evening, Amon. I have a job for you."

* * *

"What kind of job?" Catherine asked.

Lily shrugged. "It's bagging groceries over at the mart down on 5th. "

Catherine raised an eyebrow at her mother. "Don't you think she's a little young for a job?"

"She's fifteen, Catherine. I already asked and the manager said that they allow fifteen year olds to work as baggers. Oh, but only on weekends and for four hours a day. It'll be good for her to get out of the house and see what the real world is like."

"And a grocery store is the real world?" Catherine asked.

Lily frowned. "You know what I mean. Catherine, she tried hitchhiking for Christ's sake!"

"And I already took care of that."

"By showing her a dead body? That's good mothering?"

Catherine turned away. Under her breath, she muttered "And you know about good mothering?"

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't seem to have any problem bringing strange men into the house of a little girl, did you?" Catherine asked. She folded her arms across her chest and waited for the answer.

Lily's jaw dropped. "Strange… Catherine, Sam has never been a 'strange man'. That's what this is about, isn't it? I still don't understand why you're being this way."

"The man is a cold blooded murderer!" Catherine shouted as she threw her arms in the air. What she wasn't expecting was a slap across the face.

"I won't have you saying such things!" Lily scolded after hitting her daughter. "He's always been gentle and kind to me and _you_! He is your _father_!"

"I'm not doing this again," Catherine said quietly with a hand on her cheek. She started walking out of the living room and stopped. "And Lindsey isn't working at a grocery store."

Leaving her mother behind, Catherine entered her bedroom and sat on her bed. With a sigh, she lowered her head into hands. Her mind was racing over what was said, the main topic being the job and Lindsey. She couldn't shake the memory of the case at the grocery store two years back. She remembered the little boy who had been injured in that robbery. That could be Lindsey.

Catherine didn't realize that she was being watched. Her mother softly stepped into the room and looked at her. For several minutes neither moved. Lily contemplated how to broach the subject with her. Catherine had her mother's temper and that was perhaps the one thing Lily wished she didn't inherit. She would have to try a diplomatic approach.

Gently, Lily sat down next to her daughter. With her fingers, she stroked the strawberry blonde strands of hair that dangled down from Catherine head.

"Catherine," she spoke softly. "Tell me why you hate him."

"Mom, don't," came the muffled reply.

They sat in silence. Seconds turned to minutes as the two became lost in their own thoughts. The sound of the front door opening and closing and someone shouting caught their attention.

"Mom, you home?" came the voice of Lindsey Willows. "Where are you? I saw your car. Oh!" she exclaimed as she walked past the bedroom. "Hey, Grandma," she greeted Lily. She then looked over at her mom. "Is everything alright?"

Catherine sat up. "Yeah, everything is fine. How was your day?"

Lindsey shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Emily was being a major downer because that boy she liked, Trevor, asked Susan Connolly out tomorrow night. She was being all depressed."

"I meant, how was school?"

"Bleh, boring. The teachers are really lame and have no humor. Hey, what are we doing this weekend?"

"Why?" Catherine asked.

"Well, I've been seeing all this bad stuff on the news with Grandpa's casinos. I was wondering if we could stop by and see how he's doing."

"Lindsey…" Catherine began. Her mother interrupted her, however.

"We'll discuss it, dear. He might be busy."

Lindsey thought about it. "Yeah, you're probably right." The sound of something vibrating in her pocket made the girl start. "Oh! That's Emily. Night Mom, Grandma." Then she was gone.

Catherine turned toward her mother. "What do you mean 'we'll discuss it'?"

Lily smiled at Catherine in an effort to appease her. "Catherine, have you ever asked why I'm with Sam?"

"Huh?"

"I've always known about Sam and his wandering eye. I never expected any commitments from him. Do you remember his wife, Trish?" Catherine shook her head. "Anyway," Lily continued, "Trish thought she could tame him. She tried. For two years he was monogamous. But boys will be boys." A distant look crossed her face and small smile graced her lips. "It wasn't long until he came knocking at my door again. I knew he was married and had kids. You were about four at the time."

"Wait," Catherine jumped in. "Did Sam know then that I was his?"

"I believe so. We never talked about it. When I became pregnant, that's when he ran to Trish. I never blamed him though. Some men panic. It's funny how men are predictable. It was around the time that Trish became pregnant that Sam came back around. The poor thing was panicking."

Catherine wasn't sure what to make of this story. It was making her feel uneasy. "Mom, what's your point?"

Lily sighed. "For all the years that I have known him, Sam has always been loving and kind. To Trish and to me. To the boys. To you and Lindsey. No matter what you say about him, Catherine, Sam always takes care of those he cares for. He would never let anything happen to you or Lindsey. Why don't you trust him?"

It was at that point that Catherine realized what her real problem was. Trust. She wasn't sure if she could trust him. Her mind thought about all the men in her life who had betrayed her trust. Her husband had cheated on her. Her mentor had lied to her. Would she be able to handle it if her father betrayed her?

"Mom, I don't know." The answer was a whisper. Yet, it spoke volumes.

Lily smiled. "Why don't you talk to him," she suggested. "Not as a CSI, but as a daughter. Really get to know him. You might be surprised."

Catherine looked into Lily's eyes. Without a word she turned back toward the wall. Perhaps she could.

* * *

A/N: For those who don't remember, Sam Braun does have two sons. They were featured in the Season 2 opener, "Burked". I don't know the name of the mother or if she and Sam were ever married. That is completely my own.

The mentor that Catherine mentions is Jimmy Tadero from the episode "Felonious Monk", also from Season 2. And the grocery store robbery is "Paper or Plastic?" from Season 4.

If there's something you like or would like to question, please review.


	18. Truth and Reconciliation

Chapter 18: Truth and Reconciliation

The skies had grown dark. While it was late and the sun had gone down, the blackness that enveloped the desert was not caused by the disappearing star. The culprit instead was a thunderstorm that had developed and rolled into the area. Though this particular storm had its fair share of lightening, its downpours were causing the most concern. Several outlying communities had already been drowned in the torrential rains and the National Weather Service had issued a flash flood warning for Clark County.

The rain had already arrived as the last of LVPD and its affiliates cleared out of the ruins of Pikes Gambling Hall. Any evidence left inside would be destroyed by the weather, if it hadn't been already. There was no more reason for any personnel to remain at the scene.

Sofia ran past several officers toward her car. With an umbrella in one hand, she used her other to hold her vest closed. With the rain came wind, and she hadn't brought a jacket. It was a fairly hot day, and she would have been foolish to bring one. Of course, hindsight was twenty-twenty. Now that the rain was falling more horizontally than vertically, she really wished she had a jacket.

As she approached her car, she wrestled with her pocket in an attempt to get her keys. After several seconds and much groaning and cursing, she finally extracted them and jabbed the appropriate key into the door lock. Without missing a beat, Sofia swung the car door open and jumped inside, soaking her upholstery in the process. Once the door was shut, she attempted to control her breathing and calm down. She really had bolted from the building and hadn't stopped running until now.

As she calmed down, Sofia allowed her thoughts to shift to the different occurrences of the day. What was the most surprising to her was that the case itself had taken a backseat. Instead, two men filled her thoughts, each involving a different aspect of her life.

Sofia knew that this job would leave her with precious little free time. There were few cops or criminalists who were able to successfully juggle their careers and their social lives. And she and her colleagues were always advised to keep their fishing poles off of the company pier. But Sofia was getting lonely and she needed companionship.

She had felt a pull toward Grissom. She had to endure many rants from Ecklie back in the day about the Night Shift Supervisor. Always curious about human behavior, she had become intrigued by the illusive entomologist. Over the past two years, Sofia had felt that she had grown closer to him. They had gone from strangers to trusted colleagues. That had been one of the things that she valued most in her friendship with the man. She was used to people trusting her. She had built all of her relationships on trust. When that was gone, there were no more relationships.

That was why she clung to Grissom. Her world had fallen apart around her and she had found herself struggling to pick up the pieces. Grissom was one of the few who had remained at her side.

Sofia was growing exasperated, however, with the sudden stalling in their relationship. She really thought they were growing closer. Then he appeared to put the brakes on. She was interested in pursuing a more intimate closeness with the man, to see where it could lead. Now, she was confused and frustrated.

This brought her thoughts over to Vartann. Sofia had known Tony Vartann for several years, but always just professionally. He would occasionally be the detective assigned to a case she was working. He had always been polite and cordial. In fact, she appreciated the times that he was the one she worked with.

When she transferred, he had remained just as friendly. Thinking back on it now, she was taken aback by that fact. Almost everyone around her treated her differently. Some, like Brass and Vega, had gotten friendlier. Others, like Ecklie and Cavaliere, grew resentful. Yet Vartann remained ed the same. At the time, Sofia figured it was because he just didn't care one way or another. The moment they shared this afternoon made her look at him in a different light.

They had almost kissed. She could feel the heat emanating off of his body. What scared her the most was that she was so receptive. She had never looked at Tony as anything other than a colleague. Was she that lonely? Or was there something more to be seen? Sofia knew she would have to think about this.

A knock came from her passenger side window. Looking over, she saw a waterlogged Brass looking at her. His eyes were pleading for her to unlock the door. Smiling, she acquiesced. Quickly, Brass got into the car and shut the door.

"Hey, Jim. Need a ride?"

"Huh? Oh! No, I got mine," Brass said as he gestured over to his vehicle.

"Okay," Sofia said, stretching the word. "What can I do for you?"

"I saw you just sitting here and thought you had car trouble or something. I would have asked through the window but the rain…" he trailed off. The downpour had really intensified.

"Oh no, I'm good." Sofia apologized. "I was just thinking."

"About how when it rains, it pours?"

Sofia laughed. "No. Just life in general."

Brass nodded. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you lately. How are things?"

She shrugged. "As well as can be, I suppose."

"I know things have been rough since the Morgan case. Are you holding up alright?"

The blond blinked. She had actually pushed the Morgan case out of her mind. She found the whole ordeal with Bell far more traumatic. Of course, it was Brass who had pulled the trigger. Then he got shot a few months later. When she really thought about it, she had nothing to complain about.

"Jim, I should be asking you how you're doing."

The Captain rubbed his shoulder. "This? Ah, you get used to it."

She gave him a questioning look. "It wasn't that long ago, it's gotta still be hurting you."

"Only when it's cold. Or wet. Like today. God, I hate rain. One of the reasons I left Jersey."

"How have you been holding up since your meeting with Detective Ortega?" Ortega had been the officer from IAB who investigated the Bell shooting. Apparently, he came down hard on the Captain.

His eyes glossed over. "Fine. It was the usual BS you can expect from Internal Affairs. I'm over it though. Really."

She remained quiet. Although she went through hell at the beginning, and still suffered some of the consequences, she couldn't imagine what he was going through.

"Anyway," Brass said. "Glad to see you're holding up alright. Can't imagine what it would have been like to have that screaming psycho come at me after dropping Sanders. Did I ever tell you good job?"

Sofia raised her hand. "Jim, it isn't necessary."

Brass didn't back off. He had something to say. "I don't think you hear this too often, Sofia. You're a good detective. I mean that. And don't listen to what other people say. I don't. As long as you do a good job and don't jeopardize yourself or others, you'll always have my trust."

She was speechless. He was right. It had been awhile since she had gotten any sort of encouragement. At least on the level that Brass was providing. "Thanks, Jim. That means a lot."

He shrugged. "Hey, that's why I'm here. Now enough of this mushy crap. Would you mind taking me over to my car?" he asked. "I really don't feel like getting wet again."

Sofia laughed. "Sure thing." As she started her car, sudden motion ahead of her caught her attention. Turning on the windshield wipers, she was just barely able to make out two figures huddling together under an umbrella. It was Grissom and Sara Sidle, the last two CSIs on the scene. Grissom managed to get his door open and helped Sara get into the vehicle. His hand stayed on her arm for a second too long. It was a motion that Sofia didn't miss. In that instant, her skies cleared. Putting her car into reverse, Sofia quickly pulled away from the CSIs and drove over to where the uniforms had parked.

* * *

Greg stared into his coffee cop as he prayed for his headache to go away. He hated hangovers. It was the main reason he often refused to get drunk. Well, that and the fact that he could barely remember anything when he did get sober again. He faintly recalled Nick coming over. There was yelling involved, although he couldn't remember from whom. His hand hurt as well. He figured he hit something hard (maybe the wall?). He'd check for dents later.

Another thing he couldn't recall was inviting Wendy over. He must have called her at some point. Yeah, it must've been him. She _wouldn't _have called. Probably afraid she'd interrupt the weepy conversation with his mother that she was _sure _he was having. God, he hoped he didn't call his mother. He also hoped that, when he called Wendy, he wasn't crying. Greg suddenly realized that that was the reason she was here. Momma's boy Greg Sanders had begged her in a drunken stupor to come over and forgive him.

For someone who was supposed to be forgiving him, she was being very quiet. As Greg sat in a chair at the kitchen table, Wendy stood against the counter. Her arms were by her side, supporting, yet not supporting, her weight against the counter-top. She was staring intently at him. Her eyes, like her mouth, were not speaking. It was beginning to irritate the hell out of Greg. But he'd be damned if he was going to speak first. She already heard him groveling over the phone. He wasn't about to give her the pleasure of seeing him do it.

"Stop it," Wendy barked.

Greg begrudgingly looked up from his mug and glared at her. "Stop what?"

"Running your inner monologue. I know how you are when you're drunk and hung over, Greg. You can't remember what happened today and now you're making up some crazy ass scenario. Let me go ahead and enlighten you."

"Whatever," he replied as his eyes went back to his cup.

"We had a fight this morning. It's pretty clear you remember that. After you dumped me off at my apartment, you obviously got drunk. I called you this afternoon. Nick answered your phone."

Greg was at least happy that the Nick part of his inebriated dream-realm was correct. "Why was Nick here?"

Wendy shook her head. "I have no idea. Probably to see why you weren't with the other CSIs"

Now he was confused again. 'Why would I be with the others? I was off shift."

"Somebody blew up Pikes Gambling Hall this morning. Mandy said that they called every CSI in to work. It's been all over the news."

Greg's mouth dropped open. "What! Pikes blew up? Shit! That's who was calling me this morning. I thought it was you."

Wendy narrowed her eyes. "Thanks, that means a lot.

The news about Pikes was still over loading Greg's brain. He should have been there. A high profile case like this demanded his full attention. If Grissom found out that he was drunk over personal issues, he'd be suspended indefinitely.

"Relax," Wendy said. "I tried calling in for you after seeing what you did to yourself. Nick beat me to the punch though. Grissom thinks you're sick."

"That's good," Greg said with a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"No problem. How's the coffee?" Wendy had brewed the pot after she had arrived. She knew he would need it.

"It's fine. So…why are you here."

Wendy didn't answer him. Instead, she stared at him, eyes once again unreadable. Greg just gazed into his coffee. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to answer.

"Damn it, Greg!" Wendy shouted. The decibel of her voice made his head hurt even more. "Do you really not care about what we have here?"

"What?" he asked as he looked up.

"This," she replied as her hands indicated the two of them. "Us. This relationship."

Greg's only answer was a shoulder shrug.

Wendy stood up straight. "You care. Beneath this…this…whatever the hell this is you're doing, you care. Why else would you get drunk off your ass?"

"You think you know me so well, don't you?" Greg had gotten to his feet. "Maybe you don't. Of course, you would like to cause then that's something else you can control."

Running her hands through her hair, Wendy struggled to remain calm. She had come here to smooth things out, after all. "You honestly believe that I'm that much of a control freak?"

"Yes!" he shouted. "Who's picked where we go on our dates? You. Whose apartment were we going to move into? Yours! Want me to continue?"

"For Christ's sake, Greg, look at this place! There are clothes that may or may not be washed lying all over the place. Dirty dishes lying on every open surface. Old food containers from God knows when. This place is _disgusting_!"

While she ranted, Wendy made sure to point at everything she had said as a visual demonstration. Greg was forced to remain silent as he couldn't refute her.

"I chose the dates because I thought I was being nice. You never objected. You never said anything. I was always open to any idea you might have had. If you wanted to go clubbing, I would have gone. Dancing? Sure!" Wendy was really starting to get angry. So angry, that the next words flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "If you wanted to go to a bar and shack up with some psycho floozy, fine by me!"

Wendy's eyes grew impossibly wide as the sentence came out. Horrified, she looked at Greg. He just stood there, emotionless. After what seemed like an eternity, he closed his eyes and walked over to the front door. He opened it to the hallway outside. A sudden flash of lightening and a deafening crack of thunder caused the lights to flicker. It accented the scene before her.

"I'd like you to leave," Greg said calmly. His voice was eerily neutral.

"Greg…I…" Wendy stammered.

"Please," Greg pleaded. "Just go."

Slowly, Wendy began moving toward the door. As she approached it, she saw a single tear appear under one of his eyelids. In that moment, she made up her mind. Before Greg could react, Wendy grabbed the door out of his grip and slammed it shut. She turned and faced him head on.

"No. I'm not leaving until this is settled."

Greg bit his lip. He had never in his entire life felt like hitting a woman. Now he was beginning to consider it. He took a step toward her. "I said get out!"

Wendy stood her ground. "No. Listen to me. After I'm done, if this remains, then I'll leave. And I won't come back."

Greg's eyes flashed, but he didn't respond. She took this as a good sign.

"I'm sorry. I really am. About everything. What I said was wrong, both now and earlier. You just have to see things from my point of view for a second, okay?"

He remained silent. Greg was afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth.

"Can we sit down?"

He eyed her suspiciously, but nodded his head. He walked over to the couch and sat down. He thought Wendy would sit on the opposite side, but he was wrong. She chose to sit right next to him.

"Greg, I feel like I'm the only one who cares about where this is going. For these past few months, it seemed that you weren't giving your all. I might be wrong. Perhaps you were and I didn't notice. Am I wrong?"

She tried to look into his eyes, but he turned away. He wasn't sure what to say. His mind raced over the months he was with Wendy. All the times he turned her down for a date night or only went along half-heartedly.

"It's okay," she said quietly. He looked back at her expecting to see hurt in her eyes. Once again, he was surprised. She was actually smiling. "It takes some people longer to get used to someone. I understand you busted your ass to get where you are. I know the routine. The job takes up all of your free time and when you finally get to that point where you can relax, you can't. Life becomes routine. Suddenly, here comes someone who drags you out of your daily grind. It's hard."

"That's not true," Greg spoke up. "I went out all the time."

"For a couple of hours once or twice a week. Not every day."

"Wendy…"

"I'm not finished yet. Please, I need to clarify things. About Elicia."

Greg stiffened. However, he allowed her to continue.

"I never blamed you for what happened. You were lonely. I was just the new lab girl and we only had one date. Believe me when I say I never thought badly of you." Greg opened his mouth to speak but she held him off. "What has been bothering me is the way you're handling it. Or not handling it is more like it. You never speak about it. You have no outlet. I wanted to put it behind us. But with you carrying it around as invisible baggage, it would always be with us. I'm sorry for pushing you into meeting with Dr. Cross. If it helps, I won't suggest anything about this ever again. But please promise me that you'll try something."

Greg nodded. "I'm sorry." Then he crinkled his brow. "Does this mean we're still together?"

Wendy smiled. "Up to you. You're the one who dumped me."

"I never dumped you. You dumped me."

Wendy frowned. "Why would I dump you? I love you, you jackass. You just irritate the hell out of me."

"You're the one who…wait. What?"

The word shit flashed through Wendy's head several thousand times. This was definitely not the right time for this little declaration. Now she was sure Greg would call it quits. She had to cover. "I said you irritate the hell out of me. I'm fond of you, but you can sometimes get on my nerves."

Greg shook his head very fast. "No, you didn't say fond. You said love. You love me?"

"Love is a relative term…"

A grin crossed his face. "Nuh uh. Not in this case, Miss Simms. Is that how you really feel?"

"Greg…I…"

"If you love me, why did you hesitate to move in with me?" His frown had returned.

"I wasn't sure of how you felt. Like I said, you weren't exactly into it."

"Into it? I asked you to _move in with me_!"

"I thought it was for the sex," was her excuse.

"Well, it wasn't." Greg crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.

Wendy raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Wait, does this mean you feel the same way?"

Greg's eyes darted back and forth quickly. He didn't respond, however, as his mind was moving either too fast or too slow. He wasn't sure which.

"This has got to be the worst mutual declaration of love in the history of mankind," Wendy said more to herself than to her partner. She took a deep breath and looked directly at Greg. "Okay, let's start over. Greg, for the past few weeks I've grown fonder of you. You're crazy, eccentric, and a little immature, but I like that about you. You're also sweet, caring and smart. Big thumbs up right there. Yes, I would say that I've fallen for you. Love that is. I've fallen in love with you, I mean." That felt good to get off her chest.

Greg remained silent. His eyes were wide with fear. Had she been wrong?

"Greg, say something," she pleaded.

"I think I punched Nick in the face."

Wendy's mouth dropped. "What?"

"Earlier, I think I punched Nick."

She bore her soul and he's thinking about Nick? She stood up from the couch and started for the door. Seeing his error, Greg jumped up after her.

"Whoa! Hang on! I understand that I'm a major fuckup with issues. Lots of issues. But I feel you."

She looked at him funny. "What?"

"The same. About you. I feel the same way about you," he struggled to clarify. "I've fallen for you, as well. I was just a little scared about it, I guess. I didn't know how you felt. I've never really been in love before so I wasn't sure about what to do or if it even was love and if it was…"

"Greg," she interrupted. "Shut up and kiss me."

He did as he was told. As their lips crashed together, their hands flew to embrace the other. After several seconds of passion, Wendy broke the kiss. She grabbed his hand and started down the hall.

"What's going on?" Greg asked confused.

"We just had out first major fight and then said our 'I love you's. If this doesn't end in sex, then I'm leaving you."

"I thought you said that I was the one who was only interested in sex?"

"You are. Now come on!" Wendy said as she entered the bedroom.

Greg frowned. Then, he shrugged. "Who am I to argue?" he stated as he took off his shirt and followed her.

* * *

The bar Warrick stepped into was one of his usual hangouts, or at least it used to be. He hadn't actually been there since he had gotten married. It was a small establishment, only a few miles from downtown. The location was far enough away from PD to discourage uniforms from frequenting, and far enough away from the Strip that the tourist didn't know about it. He had known about it for years. After he got close to Nick, he introduced the Texan to it. This bar had become their secret meeting place, where just the two of them could sit, drink, and unwind.

That was part of the appeal and the reason he never told anyone else about this place. It was great having a little spot away from home where he and his best friend could go and get drunk without fear of anyone they knew interrupting them. Warrick had to stop himself from laughing as he recalled some of the funnier moments that had occurred there. No one realized that while Nick could hold his alcohol, when he finally did get drunk the scenes he would cause were always hilarious. The normally quiet, polite Southern boy would develop a sailor's mouth and every other word became an obscenity. He also wanted to pick up any and everyone around him. Apparently alcohol made Nick blind to gender as well because he tried to pick up a guy. Twice. The really funny part was that it was the same guy both times. Warrick hadn't seen the spiky-haired punk in awhile so he figured Nick scared him off. That thought alone made him chuckle.

He missed those days. As he casually approached the bar, he felt a pang of regret as he realized that he hadn't spent time with his friend in forever. Warrick didn't care whether it was because of his marriage or because of Nick not trying anymore. He knew that he should have at least made an effort. Splitting with the team meant that he wouldn't see Nick on the job as much anymore. His friendship was the one thing he was determined to maintain after his transfer.

Taking a seat at the bar, Warrick ordered himself a beer and waited patiently for Nick to arrive. He was pleased that the Texan had called this meeting. Some might say he was even excited. While he sipped his beer, he would glance toward the door every few minutes in anticipation. Finally, the bar door opened and Nick stepped in. Warrick lifted his hand and waved slightly. Nick acknowledged him with a nod and proceeded to join his colleague, dripping water on the floor along the way.

"Hey, man," Nick greeted. "How's it hangin'?"

Warrick shook his head in amusement. "Long, lean and mean bro. You?"

Nick shrugged. "Eh, shriveled and to the left." This greeting was their manly way to see how the other's day was. Apparently, Nick's wasn't so good.

"Bad shit come down?" Warrick asked.

"Nothing like that. Just exhausting."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, I hear you. How did everything go with Braun?"

Nick frowned. "Man, that guy is confusing. I can't figure him out. One second we'll be talking about the case; the next he's asking me about my personal life. The guy won't back off."

"Really?" Warrick inquired. "I met him a few years back myself. He wasn't all that talkative. He was more interested in talking to Cath. He must like you."

"That's a scary thought." Nick took a chug from his beer bottle.

"Anything else go down?" Warrick asked.

"No. Why?"

"You have a bruise on your cheek. Looks like somebody clocked you good."

Nick reached up and felt the sore spot where Greg had punched him. He had forgotten about that. His mind was wrapped up on what he wanted to tell Warrick.

"Nah, ran into something," Nick replied without caring. He hoped Warrick wouldn't dig any deeper. He didn't want to get Greg in trouble with his friend.

Warrick shrugged. "Might want to watch where you're going." He knew Nick had gotten punched by someone. Probably some guy whose girlfriend Nick had tried to hook up with. He really needed to cool his jets around the ladies.

Nick gazed intently at the liquid inside the glass as he swirled it around. Several minutes ticked by in comfortable silence. He knew he would have to steer the conversation around in order to make things easier. Telling Sara was easy. For some reason, he was afraid of what Warrick would say. Eyes still fixed on the bottle, he nonchalantly asked his next question. "Why did you get married?"

Warrick was silent. Nick had never really questioned him about his marriage. All he ever asked before was why he wasn't invited to the wedding. For some reason, this new question held a deeper meaning.

"What do you mean?"

"What was the reason that caused you to get hitched so quickly?"

His mind quickly tried to piece together the reasoning behind that question. Warrick had known Nick as a ladies' man. He was someone who bounced from one bed to another. Could it be that the wild playboy had found someone?

"Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," came the answer.

"I don't know. I guess I figured life was too short. Who knows when your number's gonna come up, right?"

Nick pursed his lips. "So my burial was what made you get married?"

Warrick didn't like where this was going. "I wouldn't say it like that. We were all scared, man. I mean, it could just have easily have been me in there."

The Texan held up a hand. "We've been over this. The coin toss was just random chance. You had nothing to do with it."

"But that's my point. Chance could have simply decided to stick me. Who knows, Catherine might have got the urge to go out to the scene and…" Warrick trailed off. "Or the call might have gone to Grissom. He could have sent Sara or Sanders to that scene. All I'm saying is that life isn't predictable. I realized that."

Nick was quiet for a moment. "Did you want to have a family?" The question came out hushed. It was almost as though Nick was unsure of how to ask it.

"Huh?"

"Most people get married so they can start a family. You know, kids and stuff."

Warrick furrowed his brow. "I guess. I mean, I suppose at the time I just wanted companionship. Kids wouldn't be too bad though. I'm not sure if this is the best time for Tina and me though."

"Oh." Nick went quiet again. This was unlike any conversation Warrick had had with the man. A frown crossed the Texan's face. "Why do you call him Sanders?"

"What?" Warrick was really confused by this sudden shift.

"Greg," Nick clarified. "Why do you always call him Sanders? You don't call Sara or Catherine by their last names."

"There's Grissom," Warrick countered. "And I occasionally call you Stokes."

Nick smiled slightly. "That's only when you're mad at me, Mom. And Grissom _is _Grissom. Why do you always call Greg by his last name?"

"Honestly? It's a stupid reason."

Nick looked at him. He waited patiently for the answer.

"I never liked the name Greg," Warrick said. He looked a little embarrassed. "For some reason, the name doesn't fit him. I always imagined a Greg as a middle-aged history professor. Not a hyper-active geeky kid with odd fetishes."

Nick started laughing. Warrick slouched a little in his chair. The tension that seemed to have developed suddenly dissipated. Now it felt like old times.

"Have you ever heard him discuss latex?" Nick asked.

Warrick shook his head. "No, but I heard Grissom and Catherine mention it once. Have you listened to his theories on the occult?"

Nick smiled as he shook his head.

"Heh, all I can say is the next dead psychic case we get, he's all yours."

Nick chuckled at the thought. This made Warrick laugh along with his buddy.

"We didn't come here to talk about Greg did we?" Warrick asked. As much as he liked laughing with Nick, he knew the Texan had wanted to talk about something more than his marriage and Sanders.

Nick's smile faded. "No. I have something to tell you."

* * *

Tina Brown stood inside her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Outside her home, rain and wind battered the walls and windows. She was oblivious to it, however. Her attention was wrapped around her latest discovery.

She knew this was a horrible time. She'd barely been married a year, after all. She and her husband, while agreeing to work on getting closer, still weren't in a comfortable place. And she was still thinking of altering her career path.

A baby wasn't exactly in the picture.

Tina's hand was gripped around the plastic contraption that was showing blue. Blue meant baby. Blue meant she was having a baby.

She should have seen the signs earlier. The fact that she was always nauseous in the morning should have been enough to get her attention. No, she had thought it was the flu. Her breasts had become bigger and sore. She had blamed Warrick for rough sex. The truth was that he was gentle. It was just her. She was a doctor, damn it! Why hadn't she picked up on it earlier?

What was Warrick going to say? This was an incredibly bad time. Would he be mad? Would he want to keep it? She shook her head to get that thought out. Of course he would want it. Besides, she wasn't going to let him tell her otherwise. Still, she really wanted this marriage to work, and a baby would complicate things.

With the test still in her hand, she sat down on the toilet. She really hoped Warrick would be home soon. She needed to find out what their next step was going to be.

* * *

A/N: This is the end of Act Three. It took longer than I wanted to get through the whole act, but hey, life happens.

Due to the nature of this story and the alternating characters which it focuses on, I might change the classification. Right now it's Nick and Catherine. It used to be Nick and Greg. I might go with Sofia and Greg, Greg and Catherine, Nick and Warrick, who knows. Or I might not list any character. I'll warn you before I do so though. In case you still want to follow it.

Thank you to my beta, Happyharper 13.

Please review. I'm hungry.


	19. Mark of the Beast

Chapter 19: Mark of the Beast

Las Vegas wasn't a city known for its history. This was ironic considering most people associated the city with its past. Everyone knew the headliners like Sinatra, Martin, and Presley, as well as the classic casinos like The Sands and The Desert Inn. Yet these names were dust. The great locations of old laid buried beneath a neon graveyard, the memories only living on only in fairy tale. Anything old had to be torn down. It was the law of the land.

So it was only natural that Greg Sanders would be so amused by his current location. Ever since his meeting with one Lois O'Neill, Greg had been intrigued by the history of the city. Doing a little research on the side, he had discovered several interesting tidbits. One of which applied to where he now stood.

The Golden Gate Hotel and Casino was the oldest operating hotel in the city. It had been built in the early 1900's and although it had gone through several name changes, it was still functioning.

Yet the mystique of the building seemed to die as he approached it. It was on Fremont Street after all, and the road had become one large tourist attraction thanks to a giant TV built overhead. Greg stared up at it with a faint sense of awe and disappointment. He felt his two worlds colliding with each other as each battled for dominance. But he had a solution and it came in the form of a scene to process.

Thanks to Greg's earlier…impairment, he was the only member of the night shift to actually be working the night shift. All the other CSIs had the evening off as Ecklie called in the other shifts to pick up the slack. Greg didn't mind though. As the only real member of the shift, he had a sense of seniority, real or imagined. He was also extremely grateful that the rain had stopped. Like most storms in the desert, this one had blown through in about an hour. When the skies cleared, all the streets of Vegas lit up as people poured out for a night on the town.

As he entered the aging hotel, Greg couldn't help but feel happy. Maybe it was because he was working a scene solo. Perhaps it was because his headache was gone. More than likely it was because he had gotten laid not long ago. And it had been glorious. He couldn't even imagine why he was mad to begin with.

Greg waited for the elevator to open its doors for him. It was slow, but he didn't mind. When they did open, he sauntered into the lift and pushed the button for his floor. When the doors closed he was overtaken with a sudden urge.

"I see trees of green, red roses too. I see 'em bloom, for me and for you, And I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

He belted out the song without a care. He was happy, and he didn't give a damn who knew it. The doors opened as he began the next verse.

"I see skies of blue, clouds of white, bright blessed days and dark sacred nights, and I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

Still singing his song, he walked down the corridor to where the police had taped off the scene. It was the room at the very end of the hall. Detective Vega stood waiting for him, amused smile on his face.

"Well, I don't think it was a wonderful world for our vic in there. Of course, without him it may have just gotten a little more wonderful for the rest of us."

Greg thought that was a little too candid. Usually, disrespecting of a corpse was frowned upon by the department, and Vega was the last person he would have expected to break that little rule. He took on a curious look as he followed the detective into the room. Then he stopped abruptly.

"Say hello to Officer Daniel Pritchard," Vega said.

Indeed, lying next to the wall that divided the main room and the bathroom was Pritchard. Greg couldn't help but think how lucky he was. Sure, the rest of the team got to process a blown up landmark. Greg got a corrupt cop. The one everyone was looking for. In that instant, he knew there was a God and that He loved Greg.

Realizing he couldn't bask in his victory glow forever, Greg pulled out his camera and began documenting the scene. He knew the coroner would arrive soon so he figured he'd wait until they arrived to look at the body.

"So this is what dirty cops do when they're on the run," Greg said. The room was a little messy. Clothes and pizza boxes were lying all over the place. The TV had been left on. All in all, it reminded Greg of his apartment.

"Check out the door," Vega suggested.

Greg walked over and examined it. The lock was busted and there was an indentation in the wood. Looking over at the door jamb, he saw that the wood was splintered around the recess. It was obvious that someone had kicked the door in. He photographed the items and then knelt down by the door. He was in the process of extracting a shoe print, when he heard someone coming. Looking up, he saw David Phillips approaching.

"Hey, David," he greeted.

"Greg," the assistant coroner returned. "How did you get stuck working this evening?"

"Long story." After getting his print, Greg stood up and followed David into the room. "So, what can you tell me?"

"Hang on. Let me finish this." David was writing something in his notes. When finished, he began his usual routine of checking over the body. Greg watched as the coroner took the liver temp and examined the body for wounds. "Well, I'd say he's been dead for about two hours."

"Two hours with an open door?" Greg asked.

"It _is_ the last room in this hall," Vega replied. "And there was that storm. Who knows?"

"I found what appear to be multiple stab wounds to the upper chest," David continued. "Could be your COD. Oh, and I found his wallet in his back pocket." He handed it over to Vega who flipped through its contents.

"Driver's license, credit cards, some cash," Vega rambled. "Wasn't a robbery."

"Yeah, apparently these guys aren't after money," Greg stated.

"The Tangiers suspects? You think it was them?"

Greg shrugged. "They have a habit of picking off the little fish. Anything else?"

"Only a few business cards and receipts." Vega handed them over to the CSI.

Most of the cards were useless. Contacts within the department and auto repair shops mainly. There was one that caught Greg's eye, however.

"Desmond Industrial. Michael Holt had the same card in his house."

"You think there's a connection?" Vega asked.

"Two seemingly unrelated guys involved in a crime, both carrying the card of a business in Ohio? I'd say it's something to look into."

Greg was about to abandon the rest of the papers in his hand when one of the receipts grabbed his attention. It was a few days old, but, to Greg, it was the most important piece of evidence he could have found. Placing the rest of the contents of the wallet, business card included, in an envelope Greg clutched the receipt. His good mood had vanished entirely.

"That important?" Vega inquired.

"Could be."

"What's it for?"

"A lounge," Greg replied. "The Blue Martini."

* * *

Catherine stood on the deck of the large three story ranch-style house. The porch lights were on, allowing her to see the intricate carvings on the wooden posts that outlined the deck railing. Beyond them, however, she could see nothing. The sky was pitch black, the cloud cover limiting her view of the stars above. In the distance was a faint glow, the lights of the City of Sin. Even way out here, the tendrils of that infernal entity could still be felt.

The large wooden door opened, spilling a rich luminescence out onto the deck. Its warm glow contrasted with the candescent light billowing from the porch lights. A figure appeared in the doorway. Catherine turned toward it expectantly. She remained silent though.

"Muggs," Sam greeted.

"Hey, Sam," Catherine replied. They stood staring at each other for a few minutes. Neither knew how to react to the other. Not content with standing outside all evening, she knew she would have to make the first move. "May I?"

Sam nodded his head and stepped aside. He held the door as his daughter entered his home. Shutting it behind him, he watched as she took a few steps into the foyer. Although she had been here many times before, Catherine was acting like a stranger. Sam didn't appreciate it. Calmly walking forward, he placed his hand gently onto her back and guided her into the sitting room. She went along willingly.

After sitting down in one of Sam's arm chairs, Catherine looked around the room. Having sat in that very chair in that very room before meant she was familiar with her surroundings. Her motion was simply a maneuver to avoid looking at Sam. She was here to start anew, but she wasn't going to apologize. She made the first move by showing up. Now it was Sam's turn.

The old man knew what she doing. He wasn't stupid. Knowing that she could play at this all night led Sam to make his move.

"Mr. Stokes has told me that you're no longer working the case." Catherine turned her head to look at him as he spoke. "Did Grissom take you off of it?"

Catherine brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. "I took myself off, Sam."

Sam didn't respond. His face held the frown that seemed to be growing ever more permanent these past few years. His eyes held no twinkle. Catherine knew she would have to continue. It didn't bother her though.

"I was afraid of compromising the case," she explained further.

A weathered hand ran along the rich leather that adorned his chair. Sam licked his lips in contemplation. "Why were you afraid of that?"

"I suppose it has to deal with what I don't know about you." Her eyes faltered as she thought about that. "And what I _do_ know."

"What is it that you _do_ know?"

Catherine smiled. "I don't know."

Sam's eyes narrowed. It wasn't in annoyance, however, as it was confusion. "Catherine…?"

"Sam," she began. He posture shifted as she sat up straight, turning toward him with her full attention. "There is a lot I know about you. Mainly stories from my mother, or glimpses you occasionally offer. The tabloids also provide an interesting window. But that's all. I sometime feel like a outsider looking in. All those visits when I was younger were mainly for Mom."

"Now hang on a second," Sam interrupted. "I always spent time with you."

"As a consolation prize. It's okay. I understand. I never knew any different. I don't resent it now. You had your own family. I understand."

"Catherine, I don't. I'm sorry, but what…?

"I was the illegitimate child. Even if no one but my mother knew it, I was the forgotten one."

Sam took on a defensive stance. "I've always tried to take care of both your mother and you."

"Then return home to your sons," Catherine finished. "I don't resent it. If anything, I guess I'm a little envious. I've never had a good track record when it comes to the men in my life. You were…are, the closest thing to an actual father I have. Yet there is still so much about you that I don't know."

Sam remained silent. For once in his life, he wasn't sure about the current course he was on. He was used to being in control of every situation, every conversation. Now, it was as though he were driving on an unknown highway going in a direction he was unaware of.

Catherine turned away from him. "I guess I'm worried about Lindsey. Eddie wasn't always dependable. He wasn't always around when she needed a father. Now he's gone. I don't want to get her hopes up with anyone else."

"Catherine, I don't know what you're trying to say."

"Our history together is muddled. It has gotten to a point where I don't know what's real and what isn't. My job and yours puts us on opposite sides."

Sam's eyes flickered about. "You still think that I-"

"No," Catherine answered before he could ask. "What I'm saying, or trying to say, is that I would like to start over. Fresh."

He crinkled his brow. "How do you mean?"

"Right now, I just want to talk. Forget about the case. I'm not on it. It has no bearing. I want to get to know you. Who you are. Who the man my mother fell in love with truly is." Catherine paused. She looked him directly in the eye with her pleading ones. "I want to know my father better so that my daughter can know her grandfather."

Sam could only stare at her. He felt a rush of feelings suddenly wash over him. An incredible warmth filled him. He smiled for the first time that evening. It was genuine and laced with unconditional love. "You know, had I done right by your mother, you would have been my favorite."

"Sam…" Catherine blushed,

"I mean it. I loved my boys. I know I told you that I favored Tony the most. Had you been there, however…"

"My mother trusts you. She believes I should as well. I'm willing to try. But," Catherine's face grew serious, her eyes losing their glow. "Should you betray that-"

"Muggs," Sam said, his smile reaching his eyes. "Trust me."

* * *

Dumping his keys on the table, Warrick placed his hand on his neck and rubbed it. Twisting around, he heard it pop a few times. It had really been a long day. He didn't plan on spending that many hours at the bar, but Nick certainly had news.

He didn't know why his friend felt the need to hide this before. He had gotten a little angry at the Texan for keeping it from him. As he explained himself, however, Warrick began to understand his trepidation. He also felt relieved about Nick's confession. It made him feel less guilty about the possibility of not seeing Nick as much. From the sound of things, his buddy was going to be busy with his own life.

The guilt had returned when he saw the look on Nick's face when Warrick had told him about the transfer. Nick had questioned him about it. Warrick explained his problems with Tina. He had only nodded. It was at that moment that both realized the same thing. Life goes on. Neither could have really expected to maintain the status quo forever. Honestly, it was amazing that they had stayed at the same job, working the same shifts, for this long. Between the many near death experiences they each held, it was a wonder neither had given up, burned out or died.

So they sat and talked. It was like old times again. In fact, they mostly talked about old times. Before either of them knew it, several hours had passed. Wishing each other goodnights and good lucks, they departed to their separate lives.

Looking around the living room, Warrick wondered where Tina was. He couldn't wait to let her know that Grissom had approved his request. He also wanted to tell her what Nick was up to. He knew he was going to need support from everybody.

"Honey," he called out. "You home?"

Not hearing a reply, he bounded up the stairs. Even though he knew it was late, he figured she still had to be awake. As he rounded the corner, he saw the bathroom light on. He remembered that she hadn't been feeling well as of late. He hoped everything was alright.

"Babe?" Warrick asked as he gently knocked on the door. "Everything okay?"

His question only received silence. Cautiously, he opened the door. Peering inside, he saw Tina sitting on the toilet. She was hunched over, hands between her knees,clutching something that Warrick couldn't see.

"Babe?"

Tina looked up at him. Her eyes were blank. Not seeing any emotion in them scared Warrick. Something was indeed wrong.

"What is it?"

Silently, she held up her hands. He noticed the rod-like object gripped between them. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on it. Then, it hit him. His mouth parted slightly in shock. No way.

"Is that…?"

She nodded.

"And you're…?"

Another nod.

"Are you sure?"

Tina pointed to the waste basket. Leaning over it, he saw four other tests. Every one of them showed the same results. Warrick turned back to gape at his wife. She could do nothing but stare back.

"Say something," Tina pleaded.

"I…I don't know."

"We should…we should talk about this."

Warrick nodded. Together they walked into the bedroom. Both sat on the bed, eyes staring straight ahead. Not a single word was spoken for almost ten minutes. Now that it was out in the open, Tina couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation. Was either of them really prepared for this? They had briefly discussed the possibility of a family earlier. That was all though. Nothing concrete really came of it.

The silence was broken by the sound of quiet laughter. Tina looked over at her husband, her face holding an expression of bewilderment.

"Heh, Nick's going to think I'm trying to steal his thunder."

"Huh?"

He then told her about everything that happened. The whole shock of the moment had forced Warrick to quickly summarize the day's events. In a matter of minutes, he breezed through Pikes, the request to Grissom, meeting Nick at the bar, everything. Tina watched and listened intently. When he had finished, he turned toward her. Then he chuckled again.

Tina smiled, though she was still confused. "So, what do you want to do?"

Warrick cocked his head. "About what?"

"This," she pointed to her belly.

Warrick blinked, unable to comprehend what she was saying. Then it snapped.

"What? No! Of course I want to keep it!"

Tina let out a deep breath. "Oh, thank God!" She practically leaped forward and wrapped her arms around Warrick and buried her head into his shoulder. He gently rubbed her back. "Is this a good time though?"

Warrick held her tighter. "Doesn't matter. We'll make it work. We've come this far, haven't we?"

Lifting her head back, she gazed into his eyes. Without a word, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Warrick returned it. Then it hit him. He was having a baby. He was going to be a father. Pulling her tighter, he deepened the kiss. He couldn't be happier.

* * *

Sofia closed the folder in front of her and leaned back in her chair. Rubbing her eyes, she realized one wonderful thing: she could now go home. Filing away the paperwork she had just completed gave her a sense of accomplishment. Her day was now over. Quickly getting up from her chair, she grabbed her purse and started closing up shop for the night. She had just reached for her lamp when she heard a knock on her door. A curse passed through her brain as she turned and saw the Undersheriff standing there.

"Am I disrupting anything?"

"Just getting ready to go home," Sofia replied hopefully.

"Can you spare a few minutes?"

She breathed heavily. "Yeah," she grudgingly agreed.

He motioned for her to follow him. Sadly, she did so. Minutes later, she found herself sitting in the rich leather chair situated in front of McKeen's desk.

"What did you want to see me about, sir?"

McKeen didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied her. Sofia became very self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"What are your ambitions, Curtis?"

"My ambitions?"

He nodded. "You have goals, don't you? I'm sure you don't see yourself as a low-level detective ten years down the road. I can see you as captain one day. Hell, you might even get my job." With this he gave her a big grin. Sofia didn't like it though.

"I don't know, sir. I haven't really thought about. I'm still adjusting to this."

McKeen sat back in his chair. "I bet. It's hard to go from civilian to uniform. I'm sure it's nice, though, to be somewhere you know that what you're doing counts."

Sofia narrowed her eyes. "All due respect, sir, but the CSI's do count."

"Of course they do," he grinned. "That's why you're here."

A wave of anger swept over her. Sofia was forced to bite her lip in order to keep her mouth shut. McKeen didn't take notice.

"As I said, Curtis, you have the potential to move up here. I would be more than willing to give you a hand."

"In what way?"

McKeen shrugged. "The usual. Pass you some of the high profile cases. Get you some one on one time with the Sheriff. I can even take care of your reviews personally. I've read your file. You have a knack for politics. You would do well, I think."

Sofia was feeling uncomfortable. He had never taken any serious notice of her previously. Why now? More importantly, how did he benefit?

"May I ask why you'd be willing to do this?"

"I like you. Besides, I expect you to return the favor."

"Sir?"

"There's not too many in this department I trust," McKeen said as he leaned closer to her as though he were sharing a secret. "I feel I can trust you."

Did he know about the idea of a mole? Sofia quickly thought over Vartann's theory. It made sense though that the Undersheriff would have to be let in on the investigation. "Thank you, sir. I'll have to give it some thought. I'm curious though, what do you feel about Vartann's investigation?"

McKeen frowned. "Detective?"

"Into the mole," Sofia clarified. "The one Pritchard must have been working with."

Sofia though she saw something flash in McKeen's eyes. "I haven't received an update yet, but I'll let you know." He quickly stood up, making Sofia do the same. He walked her to the door. "Be sure to let me know about my offer, Curtis. Like I said, we could really benefit from each other's help."

"Thank you again, sir." After giving him a nod as a farewell, Sofia was practically pushed out of the room. Shrugging it off, she continued on her way.

* * *

A/N: This is the beginning of Act 4. Only one more after this. I will be touching on a few things from "Am I Blue", but nothing that really requires a re-read. I'll cover any important stuff.

I've actually been to Fremont Street and seen the giant TV thing that was built over it. IMO it's all sound and fury signifying nothing. The song Greg is singing is "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong - one of my favorites.

For those who haven't noticed, Officer Pritchard is the corrupt cop who was suspected of murdering Warrick. I'm obviously changing things...hopefully for the better.

Another big thank you to my beta, HappyHarper 13, and to those who have reviewed. As such, please review.


	20. Alea Iacta Est

Chapter 20: Alea Iacta Est

The mid-afternoon sun glared down onto the city streets. Inside the small office building, however, Nick was oblivious to it. He was anxious. Sitting in the waiting room chair, his foot tapped without his notice. He sighed as he glanced at the clock. His appointment was scheduled for three o'clock. He still had five minutes. He hated waiting.

"Mr. Stokes?" The receptionist behind the desk called to him. "The doctor's ready to see you now."

Nick breathed deeply and stood up. He hated therapists too. It was hard enough just getting used to his regular one. Why Ms. McCabe requested one of her own was beyond him. He was so nervous that he didn't even look to see the name printed on the door that he had just opened.

"I'll be right with you. Go ahead and take a seat." The therapist was sitting behind his desk. His face was turned downward as he wrote something on the paper in front of him. Nick looked at the auburn hair curiously. He looked familiar.

Then the doctor looked up, and Nick's blood froze. The man smiled wide, making his already youthful face appear younger.

"Nick Stokes? Crime lab, right?" Dr. Cross looked surprised and enthusiastic.

"Yeah." Nick wasn't so sure about this. "You were the one looking for Greg Sanders."

Cross nodded. "Yep. As much good as that did…" he muttered. Standing up, he walked over to Nick and held out his hand.

Nick took it. "I'm sorry, I forgot your name."

The man's smile faded slightly. "Dr. Peter Cross. It's okay though. You can just call me Pete."

"Pete." Nick said. He couldn't help but smile at the man's unorthodox manner. He wasn't like any therapist Nick had ever met. "Isn't that a bit informal?"

Cross shrugged. "You're not a client. Not in the general manner. This is just a check-up, sort of."

"Sort of?"

All this time, their hands remained clasped in a now extended greeting. Cross reluctantly let go and motioned for Nick to sit down. He guessed it was straight to business with this man. "This isn't my normal type of case. I do, however, assist a few organizations like the one you went to. Mari was kind enough to keep me on retainer. Normally, I just do my usual practice."

"Which is?"

"Family stuff."

Nick nodded. It made sense though that Ms. McCabe would send him to meet with this guy.

"Enough about me," Cross said with a smile. "Tell me about yourself."

"Uh…" Nick wasn't sure how much detail he wanted to give him.

"Relax, Nick. This is just a simple discussion to ascertain your mental status."

Nick scowled. "Sure, when you say it like that…"

Cross laughed. "I guess it did sound kind of scary."

Nick couldn't help but be amazed by how young this guy seemed. He looked around Nick's age, but acted younger. And he was his doctor? "Sorry, I'm just not really prepared for this. I've never really heard of people having to get a psych evaluation when they do this."

"Normally, they don't. But, in certain cases, Mari feels that an eval is best. Now, to business I guess. Mari mentioned you're already seeing a therapist, correct?" He didn't wait for Nick to answer. "Dr. Kent Nelson. Good guy. I've already spoken with him, and he's faxed over your records."

"Wait," Nick said appalled. "What about doctor/patient confidentiality?"

"In this case, full disclosure is required. Besides, you'd have to tell me all this anyway. It's better we just get this out of the way."

Nick nodded. He was feeling terribly exposed as he saw Dr. Cross flip through the papers in front of him.

"Okay, everything seems to be okay. You've had no breakdowns and hold no record of violent tendencies. There are three things I'd like to discuss, however."

Taking a deep breath, Nick nodded. "Alright."

Cross read something and frowned slightly. "Tell me about Kristy Hopkins."

Nick closed his eyes. "What about her?"

"Relax, Nick." Cross had seen the discomfort he was in. "I just want to know why you felt the need to sleep with a prostitute. Have you had these desires before? Will you have them again?"

Nick opened his eyes. He hated having to explain himself. "I didn't sleep with Kristy because she was a prostitute. I slept with a woman who happened to be a prostitute."

"Can you explain the difference?"

"Kristy was a friend. I had a few run-ins with her on previous cases. Trick rolls and things like that. She wasn't a bad person though. She was just in the wrong line of work."

"And you hoped to save her from that?"

Nick's mind was already gone. He was thinking about what she had said. She was going to go back to college. But that guy, her _pimp_, said otherwise. What had he chosen to believe?

"Kristy was already saving herself." These words passed his lips with determination. Perhaps by saying them out loud, he could convince himself they were true.

Cross smiled and wrote something down. "Let's move on. How have you been doing since your abduction?"

Nick had been prepared for this one. "Fine. I've been getting better. Insects no longer freak me out as much. I've gotten pretty good with enclosed spaces as well."

"Any feelings of unexplained fear or paranoia?"

"I've invested in home security. Other than that, not really."

"I actually would have suggested the home security. Especially after having been stalked."

"I suppose that's the third thing." Nick expected this one as well.

"No. Dr. Nelson has expressed that that particular issue has been resolved and doesn't need to be reopened. Do you agree?"

Nick blinked. "Yeah…"

"Which brings us to the third issue." Cross put down his papers and looked directly into Nick's eyes, sympathy and concern etched into his own. The Texan could not will himself to look away. "I know this is a touchy subject. I'm sorry to have to ask about it. I really am, Nick. Can you tell me about what happened in your childhood? When you were nine?"

Nick went cold. "I'd really rather not."

Cross nodded his head. "We don't have to go into details. I already know them." Nick grimaced. "I just need to know if you carry any sort of baggage with you."

"Dr. Cross, I really don't see how this has anything…"

"This has everything to do with it. Child abuse has a way of creeping up into someone's life without them realizing it. Victims often lash out unexpectedly. Unending circles of violence are formed… parent to child, parent to child, parent to child."

Anger overtook Nick. "If you're suggesting…"

"No. There are many ways that abuse can affect someone. You moved here from Dallas, yes?"

"Yeah."

"You had no friends or relatives living here. No one you knew. Why?"

"I was offered a job. I took it. Nothing more to it."

"You weren't running away?"

"I…what?" Nick was taken aback by the question.

"You left your family behind. As far as I know, none of your siblings have left the state. Except you."

"I wasn't running…" Nick didn't sound too convinced, however.

"It's completely understandable that you would feel the need to leave. A lot happened to you out there. A lot has happened here as well. Would you feel the need to run away again?"

Cross looked at Nick. He looked back without really staring. His eyes were glazed over as he thought over Dr. Cross's words. Several minutes passed in silence. Cross relaxed, allowing his client the time he needed. Nick blinked and focused on him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"My family never knew about what happened. That was a secret I kept to myself. One of many," he added quietly. "I don't have secrets here."

Cross raised an eyebrow. "None?"

"I haven't told everyone everything about myself. But I have told a few. There are some," he thought of Catherine, "who know everything about me. I'm not alone."

Cross gave him a warm smile. "That must be very comforting."

For the first time in the session, Nick released a smile that reached his eyes. "It is."

"Well, Nick. To use a clichéd line, our time is up."

Nick frowned. "Is it?"

"I think I've learned everything I needed to know. Thank you." He held out his hand once more. Nick took it willingly. "If you should ever feel the need to talk, as a friend, my door is always open."

"Thanks Doc…Pete. I appreciate that."

* * *

Greg was anxious. Anyone walking by would have picked up on that. The day was coming to a close, and various personnel were making their way home, just not the lone night shift CSI. He was alternating between sitting in the break room and pacing back and forth through the halls. He had made a pot of coffee for himself but hadn't tasted a drop. The cup he had poured had long since gone cold, and the pot was empty, its contents stolen by those who passed.

Even though he had finished processing the scene hours ago, he hadn't gone home. As night turned to day, Greg remained at the lab. As the various techs analyzed the evidence he had collected, his mind only focused on one item. Even throughout the autopsy, he couldn't see the body in front of him or hear the words coming out of Doc Robbins' mouth. With the sun having set, he continued to ponder the one piece of evidence as he paced the glass corridors.

He paused as he felt something vibrate in his pocket. Realizing it was his cell phone, he quickly pulled it out and looked at the number. It was Wendy. Although it made him feel guilty, he stuffed the device back into his pocket. He couldn't talk to her right now. They had just managed to get this whole thing worked out. He didn't want to bring it back up so soon. Not until he knew what to do, that is.

Looking up at the clock on the wall, he sighed. Grissom would be arriving soon. This was the reason he had stayed. He had an important matter to discuss with his supervisor.

Time ticked by. Greg wasn't sure how much, but he was certain that it had to have been another hour. There were less people moving about. Many of his former tech colleagues had already made their appearances. Bobby and Archie had walked by not too long ago. They were laughing about something. Greg felt a slight pull in his stomach. He kind of wished that he were in on the joke. Mandy had stopped by as well. She tried to inquire about Wendy and where they now stood, but Greg just waved her off. She looked offended, but he didn't care. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Finally, Greg heard a familiar voice down the hall. He bounced off the wall he had been leaning on and stood at full attention. His anxiety grew as he saw Grissom and Sara appear around the corner. What they were talking about Greg never knew. Once they saw him, they stopped their conversation. Sara smiled kindly at him, her eyes gleaming with happiness.

"Hey, Greg. How was your shift?" The manner in which she asked suggested she was teasing him. He wasn't much in the mood, however. She immediately picked up on this. "Is everything alright?"

Grissom had also noticed at this point that Greg was not fidgeting or anything. He had a very serious look on his face, one that made the older man uneasy. "Did something happen?"

Greg blinked. "We found Pritchard. Looks like he was stabbed to death."

Sara's eyes grew wide. "Stabbed? That isn't our suspect's MO."

Grissom, however, picked up on something else. "Greg, what else did you find?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about." Greg nodded head toward Grissom's office. Gil nodded back and motioned for him to lead the way. With an apologetic smile to Sara, Greg turned and walked toward the room.

Once they were alone and the door was closed, both men sat in their respective chairs. Grissom looked at Greg with his full attention. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I found a receipt at the crime scene. It's from the Blue Martini." Greg watched as Grissom raised an eyebrow. Before he could speak, however, Greg pressed on. "I know. A receipt isn't much, but it might give us a lead."

"Greg, we'll look into every possible angle. Of course we'll have someone investigate the place. Someone there might have seen if Pritchard was with anyone. If that's why you're worried…"

"I want to go with the officers."

Grissom stared at the young man. He stared back. The older man was startled to see something - or rather the lack of something - in those eyes. There was no sign of the fun-loving lab rat. Instead, he saw a face he was all too familiar with. It was a face that had appeared before him numerous times. It had been worn by Nick and Catherine, Sara and Warrick. It was the look of determination to prove their theory. A theory that whichever CSI in question knew was right.

"Greg, you did a great job on your first solo. But you don't have to prove yourself. You look tired. Sara can…"

"I'm fine. I processed Pritchard, its only fair I get the club."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Elicia Morgan, would it?"

"No." The answer didn't convince Greg though. He waited patiently to see if it would at least convince Grissom.

Grissom eyed him suspiciously. It was then that he noticed the stubble growing on the man's face. "Greg," he asked quietly. "Have you gone home?"

Greg didn't answer. The silence answered for him. Grissom though he had looked tired, but to have gotten no sleep at all?

"I'm fine," Greg repeated.

Grissom sighed and leaned back in his chair. "This had better not be personal. I have no room for CSIs who get too wrapped up in their cases."

Greg's eyes flashed. "You're allowing Catherine to work this Braun case. She has more issues with this than I do!"

"Catherine is no longer on the case…"

"Grissom," Greg's tone had changed. It sounded as though he were pleading. "I need to work this. I just…have this feeling."

"A psychic premonition?" Grissom asked. Greg narrowed his eyes but was unable to find any trace of mockery in the older man's face.

"No. Just a gut feeling. Intuition."

Grissom considered him for a moment. How many times had he seen members of his team plead their cases like this? He supposed he could give it a chance.

"Alright, but you're not working solo. Sara's going to be lead on this. I'll call Brass and have him send over someone to meet you there." Grissom leaned forward in his chair and gave Greg a stern look. "The moment this becomes personal, you're off. Don't go looking for what isn't there."

Greg nodded and stood up. Silently, he headed for the door.

"Greg." He stopped. "What are you looking for?"

Closure, he thought. "Evidence," was his reply.

* * *

Wendy tapped her foot impatiently. She stood staring at the microscope in front of her in the DNA lab. She had arrived with the intention of finding Greg, but apparently he was in a meeting with Grissom. Hopefully, there weren't any problems.

"Problem, Simms?"

Wendy looked up and saw Hodges standing in the doorway. He had an unusual look on his face. The usual smugness combined with something else.

"No." She stretched out the word. "Why?"

He pointed at her foot, which was still tapping quite rapidly. She stopped.

"Just have a lot of energy, I guess." The excuse sounded feeble in her mind. Hodges must have thought so too.

"Oh, I figured it was because of Sanders."

Wendy narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Word is that you two are on the outs."

"Who said that?"

"Mandy. I heard her question him about it earlier. Sanders just brushed her off. She passed by me muttering about it."

Wendy grinned at him. Hodges wasn't expecting that. His smile faded.

"You couldn't be more wrong. Things are great between us."

She turned back to her microscope and proceeded to ignore him. Hodges, however, didn't leave.

"Then why didn't he leave after shift."

Wendy paused once again. "He was busy."

Hodges shook his head. "No he wasn't. Heard it from the day shift techs. Sanders just haunted the halls like a ghost. Why didn't he want to leave?"

Wendy blinked. Why didn't he want to leave? Was it her?

"Hodges, he probably just had a lot on his mind. Geniuses do that."

The Trace tech took on a haughty stance. "I never do that."

She looked at him. "Like I side, _geniuses_ do that."

Hodges frowned and turned away, only to stop abruptly. Sara had just walked into the room and blocked his path.

"Hey, Hodges. Have you found anything else from the Pikes?"

"No. Nothing other than the explosive residue. I still have a few tests running though."

Sara nodded. "What about Pritchard?"

"I did find out about the metal shard Doc Robbins found in the body. It's a broken piece of a knife. Serrated. Probably standard kitchen ware. Without a weapon to compare it to, however…"

"Hopefully we'll find something at our next stop," Sara interjected. "Speaking of which, I better go before Greg leaves without me."

"Greg's with you?" Wendy asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Yeah," Sara replied, confused. "Poor guy can't wait to get there. Figured he'd never want to see the Blue Martini again." She then gave a quick wave and walked away.

Hodges turned back toward Wendy, who had her mouth open. He smiled. "He didn't tell you, did he? Not really boyfriend-like was it?" She glared at him. Hodges only shrugged. "He's going with Sidle too. Interesting. You know, Sanders had a thing for her back in the day. Wonder if he still does?"

"Hodges. Get the hell out of here!"

* * *

A/N: Hello again! I love caffeine!!!!

Okay...um...Oh! The chapter title is latin and requires a bit of explaining. It was the phrase apparently uttered by Julius Ceasar as he and his army crossed the river Rubicon into Italy in opposition to the Senate, thus starting the Roman Civil War. It translates to "The die is cast!" Basically: they just reached the point of no return. (If you've ever heard the phrase 'crossing the Rubicon, there's your definition)

I forgot to mention last chapter that this act will be Greg heavy. His storyline is basically going to be concluded by the end of it.

Please give thanks to Happyharper 13, my beta. She deserves it for having to deal with me. Thank you to all those who have reviewed and who have continued to follow this story.

As always, please review.


	21. Revelations

Chapter 21: Revelations

Brass sat at his desk, whistling a tune to himself as he read the file in front of him. He had just gotten back from working a scene with Catherine. A dead husband and wife. Murder-suicide. It wasn't too hard to figure out that the guy shot her and then shot himself. A little digging turned up a load of financial debt and several liens against the house. The guy just couldn't take it anymore. Open and shut.

"Hey, Jim."

Brass looked up and saw McKeen standing in the door. Sighing inwardly, he waved the undersheriff into his office. "What can I do for you, Jeff?"

McKeen leaned up against Brass's desk. "What investigations are you currently involved in?"

Raising an eyebrow, Brass glanced down at his papers and then back at McKeen. "I just wrapped up a case, actually."

McKeen eyed the folder on the desk. Brass flipped it around so he could see it. Satisfied, he turned back to the captain. "Are you carrying on any other investigations?"

"Not personally, no. Why do you ask?" Brass was beginning to get suspicious

"I've heard about the possibility of a mole in the Department," McKeen said point-blank.

Brass nodded. "Vartann's case. Yeah, we think Pritchard was involved with someone else."

"Have you got any evidence to back up that theory?" McKeen's question came out sounding antagonistic.

Leaning back in his chair, Brass fought to keep his cool. He figured that he'd get some grief from the higher-ups. Knowing that didn't make it any less frustrating, though. "Nothing concrete yet. That's why we're investigating."

"Could you tell me why you didn't inform me of this investigation earlier?"

"We felt it was better to keep as few people as possible in the know about this. We obviously have no idea who it might be." Brass narrowed his eyes as a sudden thought came to him. "How _did_ you find out about this, Jeff?"

McKeen straightened up and looked down at the captain. He ignored the question. "I want to know who knows about this and who is carrying it out."

Brass was confused. Only a handful of people knew about the investigation. Although it was possible that Vartann could have informed the undersheriff, he found it unlikely. He didn't trust the man and would have liked to have kept him in the dark for as long as possible. Still, McKeen was his boss and if he was ordering Brass to tell him more about the investigation, the detective was obligated to tell him.

"Detective Vartann is the one looking into it along with CSI Brown. The only other people to know about it are Grissom and Detective Curtis."

McKeen nodded. "I'm assuming Grissom hasn't informed Ecklie?"

"As far as I know, no, he hasn't."

After releasing a sigh of relief, McKeen relaxed. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

Brass's voice brought McKeen back to the present. "Of course, now that we've found Pritchard, the whole thing might get a little easier."

The undersheriff remained silent

"I want you to keep me updated on this, Jim. Any information you get, I get. Am I clear?"

Lazily, Brass acquiesced. "In that case, we were able to get a possible lead from Pritchard."

The breath caught in McKeen's throat. "What lead?"

"Not much. Just a lounge Pritchard apparently went to. The Blue Martini."

Looking both angry and afraid, McKeen swallowed. "The Blue Martini?"

"Yeah. You remember the place, right? The crazy bitch that attacked Sofia and Sanders a few months back."

McKeen nodded.

Brass continued. "Last I heard, they're bringing in a suspect."

His eyes wide, McKeen struggled to keep his voice normal. "Who?'

* * *

"The guy's name is Oliver Queen," Vartann explained. "Sofia's bringing him in for questioning."

Warrick grunted. "Who is he?"

"Owner and bartender of The Blue Martini."

Sitting in the break room opposite Vartann, Warrick sipped a cup of coffee. He frowned as he tasted the brown sludge. He wished Greg were around with a pot of his own. "I don't get why we weren't called to investigate. We _are_ working this whole…thing…aren't we?" He avoided using the word 'mole'.

The detective shrugged. "Brass felt that this case fit in more with the direct investigation into Pikes and the Tangiers. He didn't want to distract us from our search."

Warrick scoffed. "I don't know, man. We're working the Pritchard angle."

"And he's dead." Vartann was getting a little annoyed with Warrick's attitude. "I've already looked over the evidence Sanders brought in. The only thing that was closely related was the receipt. Even then, it's flimsy at best. I bet the only reason they're bringing in Queen is to look like they got something. They'll question him and then release him."

"I can't believe Grissom let Sanders continue. He has a history with that place, you know."

Vartann had had it. "Hey! Everyone's got a history somewhere. This town isn't the size of the world. It's a small oasis in the middle of the desert. Sofia also has history there. Do you see me complaining about her checking the place out?" He actually did have a problem with that, but for a different reason.

Warrick stared into his cup. "Sorry. I guess I just have a lot on my mind. I wish we were doing something."

Sitting back, Vartann scratched his nose. "So do I. I'm still waiting for the go ahead to look through the department's personnel files. What's on your mind that's making you so testy?"

A nervous smile crossed Warrick's face. "I'm not testy. Nervous, I guess."

"About what?"

"My wife's pregnant."

"Tina's pregnant?" The voice wasn't Vartann's. Looking up from his coffee, Warrick saw that Catherine had just walked into the room. There was a look of shock on her face that she quickly tried to recover from.

Warrick swallowed. "Uh…yeah."

"Congratulations," Vartann said enthusiastically. Warrick only acknowledged him slightly. He and Catherine were too busy staring at each other. Sensing the awkward moment, Vartann decided to excuse himself. "I've…uh…better go see if I got the okay on those personnel files." He then walked past Catherine and down the hall, leaving the two alone.

It was Catherine who recovered first. "So, a baby. Congratulations." The comment came out sounding awkward.

"Yeah," whispered Warrick. "Thanks."

"How's Tina handling it?"

"Pretty well. She wasn't sure if this was a good time though."

Catherine's mouth dropped open slightly. "You guys aren't going to…you know."

Warrick quickly shook his head. "No! We're keeping it."

Silence passed over the room. Once again it was Catherine who broke it. "You'll be a great dad you know."

Warrick smiled. "You think?"

A smile greeted him back. "I'm sure of it. Both of you will make great parents."

"If Tina does half as well as you, I'd be happy."

The comment struck Catherine as odd. Not wanting to dwell on it, she gave Warrick another congratulations before turning around.

"I took your advice by the way," Warrick quickly said to her retreating back.

She stopped and turned her head toward him. "Which advice?"

"About switching shifts. I talked to Grissom. He said after this case is solved, I'll be moved."

Licking her lips, Catherine fought back her emotions. She suddenly found herself hoping for a cold case. "That's good. You'll be able to spend more time with Tina. That's good." The words sounded hollow to her.

She took several more steps to the door when she heard a chair scrape behind her. Warrick had stood up. "Hey, Cath." He stepped closer to her. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Her breath catching, Catherine turned around. Warrick was practically in her space. "For what?"

His heart beating, Warrick swallowed. "You know. Us."

Pushing aside what she wanted to say, Catherine went on with what she needed to say. "Hey, it's water under the bridge. I've moved on." Faking a smile, she pressed on. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine. You should be worried about yourself."

Giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder, she gave him one more fleeting smile and walked away. She missed the look of sadness that swept into Warrick's eyes.

* * *

Greg stood in the observation room. Beside him was Sara. Sitting in the room opposite the glass was Oliver Queen. He recognized him as the bartender who gave him free pretzels the night he first met Elicia. She had called him Ollie. He found it amazing how the brain worked. For the life of him, Greg couldn't recall much of what happened the night Elicia had stabbed him. Yet, the night he first met her stood out clear as day.

She had been singing _In a Sentimental Mood_. She had been wearing a crimson dress, her hair done up in a fancy peek-a-boo style not seen in decades. Then she had reappeared in street clothes. They had exchanged witty banter. He had figured he didn't stand a chance with her. If only that were so.

"You okay?"

Greg turned toward Sara. He nodded.

Sara looked at him, concerned. "You sure? You were pretty quiet back at the lounge." Sara was indeed worried about him. Her concern was also mixed with guilt. She had been the one who introduced Greg to the club, after all.

"Yeah. Just…memories, you know."

"Greg," Sara began cautiously. "How would you feel about staying behind the glass?"

He blinked at her. "Sara…"

She gave him a warm smile. "It's your call. You seem to be taking this rather hard. I don't want things to get personal."

He grunted. "You sound like Grissom."

"Actually, I'm asking so you don't get in trouble with Grissom. I know how badly you want to be here. If something comes up - if you get too emotional - Grissom will take you off the case. I don't want that to happen."

Greg smiled at her. "I guess I can stay here."

"You'll still be able to see and hear everything that goes on." Seeing him nod made Sara feel happy. She wanted what was best for him and was glad to see him take her advice.

Their conversation ceased as they waited for Sofia to arrive. Seeing that Greg still looked upset, Sara hoped to change the mood. "So what do you think about what Nick's doing?"

Greg looked over at her, confused. "What Nick's doing?"

Seeing his confusion, she explained. With the bewilderment showing on his face, she figured he didn't know. "You mean, Nick didn't tell you?"

Looking away, Greg shook his head. "No."

Before any more questions could be asked, the door opened. Sofia walked in, file in hand. She looked between the two CSIs. "You guys ready?"

"I'm gonna stay here," Greg stated.

Sofia frowned. "Sara, mind if we have a moment?"

Sara narrowed her eyes at the detective. Looking at Greg, he only shrugged. "Fine. I'll be in the hall."

Once alone, Sofia stepped closer to Greg. "Something wrong?"

"Some people think I shouldn't be on this case," he said simply.

"I know the feeling." Her voice was quiet, sorrowful.

In that moment, Greg remembered something. He wasn't the only one who had been scarred that night. He looked at Sofia as though seeing her for the first time. "How do you do it?"

She looked out at the suspect behind the glass. "I detach myself. Of course, it was a lot less personal for me. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was it the right time?" she asked as she glanced at Greg with a smile.

Greg blinked back a tear. He didn't know why, but he felt like he could talk to her. Unlike Wendy, she had been there. In fact, it was because of him that she got stabbed. "Sofia, I never apologized."

She looked at him. "For what?"

"If I had just kept my eyes open and my dick in my pants…"

Laugher made him shut up. "Greg, don't worry about it. I was doing my job. I got injured doing what I'm supposed to do. As a guy, you were doing what you were supposed to do," Sofia added cheekily.

"Yeah but…"

"Want some advice? It's over. In the past. Leave it there. Nothing good comes from thinking about what could have been. We all wish we could change things in the past. I know I do…" These last words were whispered, her mind on something else.

"That's what Wendy told me…"

"I'd listen to her. Now, would you care to interview Mr. Queen?"

Greg looked beyond the glass. "No, that's okay. I think I'll be fine here. I'll be able to watch the guy - see if he gives away anything."

Sofia smiled. "Sounds good."

* * *

The door to the interrogation room opened. The blond-haired man looked up at the two women who walked in. Setting the file down on the table, Sofia sat. Sara followed suit and stared at the man, expressionless. Queen's eyes darted back and forth nervously.

Sofia spoke first. "Alright, Mr. Queen. Would you mind telling us why you wanted to be brought down here?"

The man swallowed. "I…I want protection."

After exchanging a quick glance with Sara, Sofia leaned forward. "Protection from who?"

Queen shifted in his chair. He was running his right hand up and down his left arm, as though he were trying to peel of his skin. "You know…you know those guys? The ones on the news?"

"Which ones?"

"The ones who killed those people at the…the Tangiers? And…and Pikes?" His voice broke over the last word.

"What about them?"

"They…they meet at the club."

Sofia swallowed. "Are you telling me that the group of people we've been looking for have been meeting at The Blue Martini? Why haven't you reported this?" Her eyes flashed and her voice grew louder with rage.

Queen jumped at the anger in Sofia's voice. Placing his jittery hands on the table he leaned toward the detective. "If…If I tell you, you have to promise to protect me."

"Let's hear what you have to say. Then we'll decide."

His eyes met Sofia's, and then shifted over to Sara's. Both sets were cold, neither giving away any signs. "I…I was at the Tangiers."

Sara clenched her jaw. "Are you saying you were involved with the shooting? You killed dozens of innocent people?"

Shaking his head rapidly, Queen attempted to explain. "No! I never fired a shot! I was there, yeah. But I didn't kill anyone!"

"That still makes you an accessory to murder," Sofia jumped in. "What about Pikes?"

Queen looked down at his hands. "I…I wasn't involved in that."

"But you were involved with the same guys? Did you know about it before hand?"

"Yeah…"

"Then that still makes you an accomplice."

"I…no…we…I…" Queen stammered as he fought back the terror that was enveloping him.

Sofia cleared her throat. "If you want us to help you, you have to help us. Tell us everything that you know."

"Can I…Can I have some water?"

Sofia narrowed her eyes at the man. Then she glanced up at the officer by the door and nodded her head. The uniform left the room. After several minutes the man returned, a cup of water in his hands. After taking several gulps, Queen struggled to regain his composure.

"Well…" Sofia beckoned.

"Okay, I guess you want it from the beginning?"

"That would be nice," Sara stated.

"Sure. I wasn't always the owner of the Martini, you know. I'd worked there for awhile and was friends with the guy who did own it. Then the whole thing with El came down."

"El? Elicia Morgan?" Sofia clarified.

"Yeah. With all the cops coming around the place, business died off. The owner, Roy, wanted out. Put the place up for sale, I mean. I figured I could handle it. So, I bought it. He gave me a nice break on it too."

"And?"

"Well, I thought that after a few weeks the buzz would go away and people would forget. It got a little busier, but not by much. El was one of our headliners. Without her - and knowing what she was - people just stopped coming. I was getting desperate. I had all my money in that place. I'm up to my eyes in debt. I couldn't afford any good acts anymore. The numbers just died off. Then I got word from Hart."

"Hart?"

"Hartley Rathaway. He was an old buddy of mine. He said that he found a way to make some quick cash." His voice died off. His eyes turned red and started to moisten.

Sofia blinked. "He got you into the group?" Silently, he nodded.

"Who's in this group?" Sara asked.

"There were twelve of us."

"Were? You mean Michael Holt and Rory Regan?"

Queen stiffened. "And the four at Pikes."

Sofia quickly looked at Sara. "There were four guys who blew up Pikes? Are you saying they didn't make it?"

He shook his head in agreement.

"Can you give us their names?"

Queen continued to stare at his hands. His voice came out as a whisper. "Hart was one of them." Then he broke down in silent tears.

Sofia stared at the man before turning to Sara. Leaning over, she whispered in her ear. "What do think?"

Sara looked at the weeping man. "I don't know. Let's see if he can name anyone else."

"Mr. Queen," Sofia said softly, yet with authority. The man sniffed a few times but looked back at the woman. "Can you name anyone else?"

He slowly nodded. One by one he named each of his partners. When he was finished, tears began to fall again.

"That's everyone involved?"

Queen hesitated. "Um…yeah."

Sofia narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded quickly. "Y…yeah…"

"Is there anyone in charge?" Sara asked.

After a seconds hesitation, Queen answered. "Waylon's the one always giving orders."

"So he's the one calling all the shots?"

Without looking in their eyes, he responded. "Yeah."

After looking at each other, Sofia turned back to Queen to talk about making a deal. Sara glanced back at the glass behind her. She hoped Greg caught the same thing she had. Queen was lying.

Behind the glass, someone did see it. He also saw the whole confession. Clenching his fists, Jeff McKeen glared daggers at Oliver Queen.

* * *

Nick stalked through the halls of the crime lab. He was feeling relatively happy this evening. Grissom didn't need him to visit Braun again, so he was free to assist Catherine on her case. They were able to close it quickly.

His thoughts continued to dwell on his meeting with Dr. Cross earlier. There was something about the guy that put Nick at ease. Unlike his own therapist, Pete was very friendly and personable. His offer to Nick about meeting just as friends, rather than a doctor and his client, was actually appealing. At the rate things were going, Nick felt he might have to start making more friends anyway.

Walking past the DNA lab, Nick saw Mandy leaning on the counter. Wondering what she was doing in there and feeling particularly playful, he walked in to mess with her. But he stopped abruptly when he heard the conversation she was having.

"So you guys made up alright?" Mandy asked.

Wendy, who had previously been out of Nick's view, sat up from behind her computer. "About three times."

Mandy's jaw dropped. "Wow. What a stud."

"Tell me about it."

"I wonder why he just brushed me off earlier," said Mandy. "He was acting very rude."

"He was probably all worked up over his case," Wendy replied. Her thoughts glossed over what Hodges had told her. "You know Greg. If we only knew what was really going on his head, right?"

It was about this time that Wendy noticed Nick. His eyes had darkened since he had entered. He wasn't looking at anything in particular though. Wendy leaned toward her friend. "Mandy," she whispered. "Can you give us a sec?"

Pouting a little, Mandy complied. Once alone, Wendy faced Nick. "Hey, Nick. I never thanked you for stopping by Greg's the other day. It was nice of you to call in for him."

Nick looked at her. He really wanted to be nice. She was thanking him after all. Yet the thought of her _having_ Greg made his stomach churn. He really thought he was getting over this.

"Whatever," he said coldly.

Wendy glowered at him. "That's a nice 'you're welcome'." She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm thanking you and you're still being a jerk. What the hell?"

"You know what, Wendy? How about you just mind your own business? And no one wants to hear about your sex life. Keep it out of the lab."

Jumping out of the chair, Wendy took several stepped toward Nick. "How many times have I walked into the locker room and heard you and Warrick discussing which of the interns is hotter? Oh, and guess what? Greg _is _my business! How about you mind your own?" She practically screamed the last sentence.

Nick glared at her. "Never mind. I'm going home."

Without a second look he exited the lab and made his way to the parking lot.

* * *

Greg was feeling angry. He had only just heard Queen mention that there were twelve suspects when the undersheriff walked in and kicked him out. He wished he had just a few more minutes in there. At least he heard what he wanted to hear.

The location was merely a convenience. It had nothing to do with Elicia or him. The joint had become relatively quiet and empty. Perfect for such a group to plan the likes of which that had taken place at the Tangiers and Pikes. Although it wasn't what he wanted to hear, he figured it would have to do. He was still angry though.

Seeing the DNA lab up ahead, he hoped for a pick-me-up. Wendy always had a way of cheering him up. When he walked in, however, he felt the tension. Glancing at his girlfriend, he saw she was hunched over the computer, punching keys with unnecessary force.

"Hey, everything alright?"

She looked up. "Nick."

Greg felt heat boil up inside him. Not again. "What did he do this time?"

Wendy explained what happened. She saw the frown on Greg's face.

"How long ago was this?" he asked.

"Not two minutes ago." Before she could blink, Greg took off down the hall.

Sprinting past people in the corridors, Greg ran for the parking lot. Once he was outside in the garage, he let his eyes sweep over the lot. He saw the shape of a person walking toward a truck. Nick's truck. He quickly jumped in pursuit.

"Hey Stokes!"

Nick stopped and turned to see who had called his name. Upon seeing Greg racing toward him, he quickly turned back and picked up his pace. He wasn't fast enough, however.

Greg caught up to him. Reaching out, he grabbed Nick's should in order to force him to stop. Then he pushed him to turn around. "What the hell, Nick?"

"What do you want, Greg?" His voice was like ice.

Narrowing his eyes, Greg thought something aloud. "No wonder I punched you."

"Would you care to try again? You're not drunk off your ass this time so I won't take pity on you."

Greg threw up his hands in disgust. "See! This is what the problem is. You've been acting like a jerk to me and Wendy and I want to know why!"

Nick looked away. "You wouldn't care."

Looking at Nick in confusion and anger, Greg felt his temper start to get the best off him. "I wouldn't care? Like I wouldn't care about what you've been working toward in your free time."

Nick's jaw dropped in shock. "How did you find out about that?"

"Sara told me. _Sara_! Jesus, Nick! I thought we were friends! Am I the only one who didn't know?"

Still refusing to look at him, Nick turned half way toward his truck. "Yeah," he whispered. "We're just friends."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Just forget about it." Nick reached for his vehicle door.

"God damn it, Nick! TELL ME WHAT"S WRONG!"

Clenching his fists, Nick stopped. "You want to know what's wrong? Do you? Fine!"

Before Greg could react, Nick turned on his heel and closed the space between them and grabbed the younger man by the shirt. Then Nick crushed their lips together. Not wanting to see whatever look was in Greg's eyes, Nick closed his own. Unable to comprehend what was happening, Greg went completely still. His eyes remained wide.

Just as quickly, Nick released him. Stepping back slowly, he saw Greg staring at him in disbelief. Nick took a deep breath. "Now you know," he whispered as he got into his truck.

Nick didn't dare look at Greg. Without waiting to see what would happen if he did, Nick drove away as fast as he could. Greg watched the truck disappear, his eyes still wide and mouth partially open.

* * *

A/N: I really have nothing to add to this chapter. If you liked it, please review and tell me what you think. I'd appreciate it.


	22. The Portrait of Nicholas Stokes

Chapter 22: The Portrait of Nicholas Stokes

The slamming of a door broke the quiet that had been resting within the quaint, one story house Nick Stokes called home. Without bothering to engage the security system or even lock the front door, the owner of the house collapsed against the entrance. Nick sat on the hardwood floor, back against the door. Slowly, he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them. His eyes were staring straight ahead without focusing.

"God…" The name was uttered ever so softly, a quiet plea to the Great Deity. Nick couldn't believe what he had done. All of his careful planning and strategies, his attempts to disengage himself from Greg… pointless. It had all come crashing down because of his damn emotions. He ran the entire argument through his head. It always stopped at the same spot, rewound, and played again. Why? Why did he have to kiss him?

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there before the knocking came. It could have been five seconds or five days. Refusing to stand up, Nick continued to sit there and listen to the sets of knocks that repeated every several seconds.

"Nick?" The voice was muffled through the door, but the Texan knew it belonged to Greg. "I know you're home." Still sitting, Nick kept his mouth shut. His mind was using every power it had to will away the person on his doorstep. "Come on, man. I'm not leaving until we talk."

Silence. Nick hadn't answered and the knocking stopped. Greg had also ceased talking through the door. Ten minutes ticked by. Feeling that it was safe to get up, Nick did just that. Peeking through the eye hole, he was relieved to see no one there. However, he could make out the shape of another vehicle in his drive way. Curiosity getting the best of him, Nick cautiously opened the door.

He was surprised by what he found. Sitting on the ground, almost in the exact position Nick had been in, was Greg. Then, several actions took place at once. Upon seeing Greg, Nick attempted to shut the door and go back into hiding. Greg was too quick, however, and his arm shot out into the space that had opened up. A loud curse filled the area as the door closed on Greg's arm. Shocked by the scream, Nick naturally stepped back allowing the door to open fully. Cradling his arm, Greg lunged through the entryway.

Sensing that he was in the clear, Greg crawled the rest of the way into the house. Nick was still too stunned to do anything. After getting to his feet Greg looked at his colleague.

"I could complain about the arm, but I suppose it's only fair for the punch to the face." Greg attempted a playful smile, but the tension and awkwardness in the room made it difficult.

Hearing him speak brought Nick out of his stunned state. Letting his shoulders sag, he addressed Greg without looking at him. "Why can't you just go away?"

Still massaging his arm, Greg stood up straighter and held his ground. "I'm not going anywhere. We need to talk."

Realizing that he would have to get this over with eventually, Nick gave in. Turning his back to the intruder, he walked to the nearest couch and slumped down. Greg followed and sat down in the chair opposite him. Silence, a common guest these days, descended on the room. It would have remained so, happy as could be, until Greg broke it.

"So…you…um…" He wasn't sure how to broach the topic.

Nick glanced at him. "I'm 'um' what?"

"You…uh…kissed me."

Their eyes met. "Yeah…" Nick agreed quietly.

"So I guess that means that you're…you know." Greg was hoping Nick would say it for him.

The Texan only stared at him, challenging him. "What?"

Hoping that humor was the best bet, Greg gave Nick a sly smile. "That you…uh…you enjoy the meat-lovers pizza?"

Raising an eyebrow, Nick shook his head in annoyance. Let the jokes begin.

Sensing that his plan was failing, Greg figured he could just shoot from the hip. "Hey, it's all good. I don't have any problems with that. I'm from California. I had lots of friends who were gay. I just…didn't expect it from you."

"Something wrong with me?" Nick asked defensively.

"No. You're just…you know. Nick Stokes, Ladies Man."

Nick looked away. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. Looking back he was surprised by the look on Greg's face. The younger man had a funky smile on his face. "What?"

"I just realized that I'm irresistible to women _and_ men!"

Fighting back the smile that threatened to break him, Nick held onto his frown. "Nice ego…" he muttered.

Greg shrugged. "Can't deny the truth. If I can make lady-killer Nick Stokes play for the other team…"

"You didn't make me do anything. I was just…in denial."

Greg's smile grew. "Even better! I broke down the closet doors!"

Nick jumped to his feet. "Is this all a joke to you!?"

His smile faltering, Greg stared at him. Ignoring the question, he decided to ask his own. "Is this why you've been a complete dick to Wendy and me?"

When Nick didn't answer, Greg sighed. "You don't want me to joke, that's fine. But if you at least want me to still be friends with you, you're going to have to tell me the truth."

"Maybe we shouldn't be friends anymore…" Nick muttered.

Greg's mouth dropped open. "You don't mean that."

Feeling invigorated, Nick jumped forward with his original plan to get Greg to hate him. "Well, maybe I do! I'm sick of seeing the two of you all over each other and maybe I'm sick of you!"

Standing up, Greg smiled. "I don't believe that. You're crazy about me."

Nick was flabbergasted. This wasn't going how he planned at all. "You wish…"

"Please. 'Maybe I'm sick of you'? Who says maybe? You're jealous. Jealous of Wendy." Greg grinned. "You're jealous that Wendy gets to do the nasty with me."

"Shut up! God, why do you have to be so obnoxious?" Nick began pacing around the room. "Alright, fine! I am jealous. I like you, okay!"

Taking a step closer, Greg dropped the smile. "Then why are acting like you hate us? Wendy doesn't deserve that. I don't believe I ever gave you the impression I was gay, did I? I never led you…on…" His eyes widened in shock as his mind brought up images from several months ago.

He had asked Nick to go with him to the Blue Martini. Just the two of them. For all intents and purposes, it was a date. He remembered Nick was excited about it.

"Ah shit," Greg muttered. "I did lead you on. Damn it." He looked at Nick. "I'm sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I… you know…"

"Enjoy meat-lovers pizza?" Nick couldn't help himself. The look on Greg's face was pitiful. He couldn't stay mad at him, no matter how hard he tried. "I guess since you didn't know, I can't blame you."

Greg nodded. "So, where do we go from here?"

Nick released a small smile. "The ball's in your court…"

Taking a deep breath, Greg knew he'd have to let him down. "Look Nick. I'm really flattered that you feel that way. I like you as a friend. Hell, you're one of my best friends. I just don't go that way."

"Yeah, I figured that," Nick said. Disappointment mixed with relief. As much as it hurt, he finally heard what he needed to hear.

"But I don't think any differently of you," Greg added quickly. "Well, maybe the whole ladies man vibe is shattered, but you know what I mean."

Nick only nodded. Although he was happy that this, and he, was out, a sense of sorrow still held him.

"The only thing I want to know is why you never told me the reason you needed money. Sara knew. I bet Warrick and Catherine knew." Greg's eyes narrowed. "If Grissom knew and I didn't, I'll be pissed." When Nick gave an apologetic smile, Greg clenched his jaw. "Great! I'm the last to know. I'm never the last to know!"

"Now you know," Nick offered as a consolation. Greg only glared, but there was no hate in his eyes. There was only annoyance. Warmth spread through Nick as he realized that he and Greg might get through this.

Getting hold of himself, Greg calmed down. "Okay, I'll forgive you if you do me a favor."

"Sure?" Nick agreed cautiously.

"Stop being an asshole to Wendy. She has enough to deal with."

"Yeah, I can do that." At least Nick hoped he could.

"So does anyone else know that you're…?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Go ahead and say it, Greg."

Greg blushed. "Does anyone else know you're gay?"

"Only Catherine."

"Warrick doesn't know?"

Nick's eyes grew impossibly wide. "No! And you're not going to say anything, either!"

Greg jumped back. "Alright! I have to tell Wendy though."

"Why?"

"It'll explain why you've been a prick. She'll feel better knowing that she's got the most desired man at the lab, too."

Nick laughed. "Whatever. More like I just picked the easy one. You know, the sick and the lame…"

"You're just in denial. I'm hot. I'm like candy to gay men."

"Ha! I know I'll be able to find better."

"Denying denial. Face it, Nicky, you aimed too high and now it's all downhill from here. You'll wind up being the bottom to some nasty ass bear. All sweaty and smelling of decomp."

That thought sent shivers down Nick's spine. Seeing the look of revulsion on his face sent Greg into hysterics. Nick couldn't help but laugh with him. After several minutes of this therapeutic release, both men stopped and stared at each other.

"So, everything is good?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. Everything is good."

As a friendly gesture, Nick held out his hand. Greg just scoffed at it though.

"A handshake? Nope. If we're ever going to get the awkwardness to go away, it has to be a manly hug. I draw the line there, however. You might be a good kisser, but I have to put my foot down somewhere."

Nick's eyes shined. "You think I'm a good kisser?"

"Shut up and come here." Wrapping their arms around each other, both men felt a wave of pleasant relief wash over them. Then, Greg smiled slyly. "I'm going to have to say no to a reach around as well."

His comment was greeted by a hand smacking the back of his head.

* * *

Mari McCabe had just hung up her phone and started reading the file of another hopeful client. This one had potential, but there appeared to be an inconsistency in the background check. She'd have to look into that. She made a few quick notes next to the file just as a knock came at her door.

"Come in," she yelled.

She smiled as her visitor entered the room. "Peter! Nice to see you. Won't you have a seat?"

Taking the invitation, Dr. Peter Cross sat down across from her desk. "Morning, Mari. Hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all. How've you been?"

"I'm doing well."

Mari smirked at him. "Really? Even with the Morgan hearing coming up?"

Cross smiled. "Sometimes I think I tell you too much."

"Please. If it weren't for me then who would you have talked to about Jordan?"

A frown replaced Cross's smile. "You know we're not together anymore, right? What's there to talk about?"

She waved him off dismissively. "I know. All I'm saying is, without me to complain to, you would have been completely depressed and unbearable to be around. I couldn't send any clients to you. You do remember that I have a couple others willing to pick up your slack."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Don't bite the hand that feeds me." Cross slumped in his chair, his suit wrinkling in the process. "I'm a little stressed, I guess. Criminal cases are a lot harder than I thought. Especially when the criminal is as far gone as she is."

"Hm." Mari was already focusing back in on the file in front of her, but she glanced up at Pete as she realized he needed something. "So what do you need, Pete?"

Cross shook his head bemusedly. Mari was an enjoyable person, but no one could keep her away from her work for too long. Opening up his briefcase, he pulled out the folder that he needed. "I've completed my review of Nicholas Stokes."

Mari stopped what she was doing and looked up. "Really? That's great! You know, I have a good feeling about this one."

Opening the folder, Cross examined what he wrote. "Your intuition is well-founded. I found nothing that would make him a poor candidate."

"You checked about the three things I asked you to?"

"Yes. I've talked with Nick's therapist, Dr. Kent Nelson, and he and I agree that Nick's abduction has been sufficiently dealt with. The thing with the prostitute appears to be innocent."

"Innocent? Explain."

"I think Nick explained it best. He didn't sleep with a prostitute. He slept with a woman who happened to be a prostitute."

Mari furrowed her brow. "What's the difference?"

"Nick has a hero complex. He was attempting to help this woman get back on her feet. He confused heroics for attraction."

"And almost got arrested for it. What about the last one?"

"He wasn't very keen on going into details about it. Again, after discussing it with Dr. Nelson, I feel that there are no serious lingering issues."

Mari leaned forward. "No _serious_ issues? You feel there _are_ issues then?"

Cross nodded. "I think the molestation is what's fueling the hero complex. Nick wants to save people so they don't wind up like him."

Sitting back, Mari considered this. "And the whole running away thing?"

"Nick doesn't believe he ran away. Besides, you talked to his friends and co-workers. What did they have to say?"

"Nothing but glowing compliments. Normally, I'd be suspicious, but they didn't even know what he was up to. Miss Willows tried to hide that she didn't know, but I could tell. That's actually a good sign."

Cross grinned. "See. You were right. Nick _is_ a good one."

"Given his nature and current status, he certainly is bold." Mari cocked an eyebrow as she thought of something. "You don't normally call clients by their first names, Pete. Yet that's all you've been doing."

His smile faltered. "Um…"

Giving him a wink, Mari reached out for his folder. "Thanks again, Pete. I have a few more things to check up on for Mr. Stokes. Then there's the issue of money. I'm sure he'll work something out though."

"Hopefully," Cross whispered.

* * *

Sam Braun was feeling comfortable. He was back in his private office at the Rampart, standing by the windows overlooking the city. _His_ city. It had taken him a lifetime, but he had finally managed to carve out an empire for himself. Sure there were those crawling around out there trying to cut out pieces of his wealth for themselves. But none of them could ever dream of touching him.

Yet someone had dealt him two serious blows. While he personally didn't take a hit from the Tangiers, the incident killed its business. He didn't even want to think about Pikes. Of course, it would take a lot more to bring him down.

Turning away from the window, Sam glanced at the building plans sitting on his desk. The Eclipse, a brand new casino that was originally going to replace the Rampart. He envisioned it as his magnum opus. With Pikes gone, however, a new avenue opened up. With both Rampart and Eclipse, his empire would be untouchable.

But first he had to deal with two issues that were bothering him. While one was the barbarians who were pillaging him, the other took him off guard. He long enjoyed knowing everything that needed to be known about people. It was what kept him ahead of people like Jim Brass. It was the wild cards that scared him. He had been blindsided by Catherine once. As a matter of principle, he had let that slide. He really did love her and knew she felt that what she was doing was right. Walking over to his desk, he sat down and picked up the phone. He already had people dealing with the barbarians. What the police knew, he knew. No, he had other matters to settle.

"Andrew? I have a job for you."

"_What's that, Mr. Braun?"_

"I want all the information you can give me on Nicholas Stokes."

"_Nick?_" The voice sounded surprised and a little afraid. _"Er… Is something up with CSI Stokes?"_

"Nothing you need to worry about. Just get me what I asked."

"_Yes sir, Mr. Braun."_

"And did you take care of that other thing I asked for?"

"_Oh. Yeah! I forwarded the location to the number you gave me."_

"Excellent."

Without another word, Braun hung up the phone. Standing up, he returned to the window. He raised his hand and touched the cool glass. The glow of the city's lights washed over him. _His city. _

_

* * *

_A/N: First off I want to apologize to **CrystallineSolid**. I'm sorry but no Love in this story. Do you forgive me?

Second: I'm curious if anyone has figured out what Nick is up to. Several people have correctly guessed already. Don't look in their reviews for clues, they're not there.

Finally, another thank you to my beta, **Happyharper 13**. She's been very busy so please give her much love.

And of course, please review.


	23. All That Jazz

Chapter 23: All That Jazz

Warrick knelt down next to the body. He was careful not to step in the blood pool forming around it. Although his eyes were focused on the body, his attention was not. He was aware of the various people around him in the motel room.

Standing just outside the room was Brass. He was yelling at someone over the phone. Judging by the context, Warrick figured it had to be the undersheriff. Listening to the conversation from inside the room was Sofia and Vartann. Each avoided the other's eyes. Officer Akers stood alone on the opposite side of the room. He looked nervous, probably because of the argument that Brass was involved in. David was on the other side of the body, filling out his report. Finally, Greg stood to Warrick's left. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since entering the room. Of course, that was more than likely due to the body.

The call had come in from Sofia. She had dropped by the motel, a safe house LVPD was using, to check on Oliver Queen. Upon entering the room, she found him dead. There were multiple stab wounds to his chest, just like Pritchard. If the fact that their sole informant was dead wasn't enough, the knowledge that only a select few knew Queen's location meant that someone within that sphere was the mole.

As far as Warrick knew, no one at the crime lab had been informed of the safe house. Naturally, the ones who brought Queen here –Sofia and Officer Akers – knew. Other than them, only Brass, Vartann, McKeen and the DA, Madeline Klein, knew about it. Of course, anyone of them could have accidentally let the location slip. Yet Warrick believed that the simplest explanation was the correct one. One of them had to be the mole. The question was who?

Uncomfortable with the tension in the room, David attempted to break it. He looked up at Warrick. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Warrick blinked out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

David was suddenly unsure of his facts. "Uh…I overheard Catherine say that Tina's pregnant. She is, right?"

"Oh. Yeah, she is." Warrick shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. He didn't want to make too big a deal out of the matter.

"Yoko's preggo?" This was the first time Warrick had heard Greg's voice since arriving at the scene. "God! Why am I suddenly the last to know everything?"

Warrick looked at him funny. "Everything? I didn't realize I was your everything, G." Greg glared at him sarcastically. "Besides, I only just found out myself."

"It's not just you. Nick's been keeping me in the dark too."

David nodded. "Oh yeah, I heard about that."

Greg was now fuming. "You knew? When?"

"Doc Robbins heard it from Grissom a few days ago. I overheard them."

"_Days_? I only found out this morning!" Greg looked at Warrick. "Please tell me you didn't know." He asked even though he already knew. There was still hope though.

Warrick smiled. "Sorry man."

"Christ!" Although upset, Greg was pleased to know his own little secret about Nick. He mentally rubbed it in Warrick's and David's faces. "First, Nick has his little thing. Now you're pregnant."

"Actually, Tina's the one pregnant. Figured you'd know that what with being a former DNA tech and all. Thought you knew basic biology. What do they teach you guys over at Stanford?"

Ignoring Warrick, Greg continued to rant. "And David here is getting married. Jeez…"

"You not a family man, Sanders?" Warrick asked.

The younger man shrugged. "I'm still young yet. I have plenty of time."

"How does Wendy feel about that?"

"She… um… we never really talked about it." Now Greg was feeling guilty. There was a lot they hadn't talked about yet. He still had to inform her of his venture to the Blue Martini and clear the air about Nick.

Warrick was looking back at the body. "Tina and I never talked about it either. Before you know it, you'll be married with a kid on the way."

A sudden green shade came over Greg. He was staring at Queen again. This, along with everything else, was starting to overwhelm him.

"Hey, Warrick?" His voice had gotten softer. "You think you can handle this scene by yourself?"

Warrick looked up at him. "Everything alright?" He noticed the way Greg was looking at the body.

"I just…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, man. I got it. If I need help, I'll call Nick or Sara."

"Thanks." Grabbing his kit, Greg walked around the uniforms and headed out. David glanced at Warrick.

"We didn't scare him, did we?"

Although he wasn't positive, Warrick figured that Greg's main problem was the scene. "Nah, this case is just a little personal for him."

David nodded in understanding. He had just opened his mouth to say something when Brass reentered the room. He didn't look happy.

"Well, the undersheriff has just removed me from the case."

Sofia's mouth dropped and Vartann looked furious. It was he who spoke up next. "Removed? What the hell did he do that for?"

"He apparently feels that I've messed up somewhere. I guess I'm mishandling the case." Brass turned to Sofia. "He's ordered that Detective Curtis be the one overseeing it. Congratulations."

From the way he said it, Sofia knew he wasn't being sincere. Whether he was mad at her or the situation, however, she couldn't tell. She looked over at Vartann. He was staring at her, but his face was oddly blank. It unsettled her.

Brass continued. "McKeen's also ordered that Vartann and Akers return to PD. We have to be… _debriefed_."

Vartann was looking angry again. "Am I being removed as well?"

"He didn't say. Probably wants to be involved in the case himself. Always with his damn politics."

"God damn it! I'm trying to figure out who's killing these people! This proves someone in the department is in on it! I knew I should have let the bastard know!" Vartann yelled, referring to McKeen.

"He does know," Brass stated.

Vartann blinked. After a few seconds his eyes shifted over to Sofia, then back to Brass.

Brass sagged in defeat. "It really doesn't matter though." He gestured at Akers. "Come on. We've got to report for a debriefing." As he walked past Sofia, he turned to address her. His words were softer this time. "Good luck, Sofia. Officer Mitchell is on his way over." Then he went back to Vartann. "Brown's still on the case. You'll be able to find the mole, right, 'Rick?"

Warrick gave a reassuring grin. "Hey, if I can get a fingerprint off of air, this'll be a piece of cake."

Brass nodded. "I'm counting on that."

As the men filed out of the room, Vartann once again glanced at Sofia. This time she felt a chill emanating from his eyes. All she could do was look apologetic and mentally curse McKeen and his 'favors'.

* * *

The vending machine in the break room was used to getting death stares. It received several daily. In fact, it took great pride in its ability to steal money and not give the patrons their desired treat. It would just sit there and let the tiny words above the money collector flash it's friendly 'thank you', mocking the customer.

Then there were days that - if it could - it would run and hide. Or at least perspire in nervousness. Right now was one of those moments as Wendy Simms glared at the machine. It had just dared to eat her dollar. Her look was one of calculating deviousness. It appeared that, had she the proper tools, she would crack it open and gut it.

She was having a rough evening. After seeing Greg chase after Nick that morning, she hadn't heard from him again. Her biggest fear was that the two went at it and beat each other into oblivion. Well, Nick probably beat Greg into oblivion unless the smaller man got off a cheap shot, which she could see him doing.

This latest incident just added to the mental stress she was putting herself through. She couldn't figure out why Greg wasn't talking to her. He had yet to mention anything about the Blue Martini. Hodges didn't help either. He had been back this evening questioning her about the status of her relationship with Greg. She didn't even want to think about the reasons why he would be so interested. There were times when she really questioned having a man in her life. She could just as easily get a booty call without the need for emotional attachment. The ballistics tech from days was pretty cute. All she'd have to do is flirt a little…

A hand on her arm broke her mental ramblings. It was just below the socket where the arm met the shoulder. It was a special spot that always relaxed her. Only one person in the lab knew of it.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Greg. His eyes were weary yet he was smiling. It was a genuine smile. She hadn't seen it in awhile, even during the post-coital cuddling they shared the other day. It made her feel warm.

"Problems with the machine?"

She nodded. "Ate my dollar."

Still smiling, Greg walked right up to the vending machine. "The trick is to lull it into a false sense of security. You have to speak sweetly to it and caress it gently." As he was speaking, Greg reached out and began to rub soothing circles on the glass face. "Then, when it's completely unaware… you attack!" Before Wendy could even process what was going on, Greg spun around, scooped her up in his arms, took several steps toward the couch, and dropped her.

Wendy was still too stunned to speak even as Greg pounced on her and forced his way into the small space between her and the back of the couch. Then he wrapped his arm around her and squeezed gently.

Recovering, Wendy could only blink. "You're in a good mood."

A muffled voice answered. "Yeah… I guess I am." Greg's face was buried in her hair.

Shifting herself so she could look at him, Wendy smiled. Greg had a disgusted look on his face as he tried to spit out the longer strands of hair that had gotten in his mouth. "You seem surprised by that," she stated.

After using his hand to pry the last bit of hair from his face, Greg looked in her eyes. "I just… feel relieved."

"About what?"

Greg repositioned himself so that their heads were resting against each other on the pillow, both looking up at the ceiling. "I went to the Blue Martini."

Wendy remained silent. Her heart was beating in anticipation.

"We got a clue that led us there," Greg continued. His voice soft, distant. "It turns out the bartender guy was one of our perps. I'd met him before. Back when… you know."

Wendy only nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't know why, but I thought it had something to do with what happened to me. I guess, in a way, it did. But it wasn't about me. I know that sounds selfish, but I just felt that anything having to do with that place reflected on what happened with Elicia and me."

This was the first time Greg had said the name without trepidation. Wendy was feeling curious now. "So, what happened?"

"He's dead. The bartender I mean." Greg's voice was surprisingly nonchalant, joyful even.

"That makes you happy?"

A look of concentration came over him. "No," Greg said softly. He seemed to be trying to figure out what to say. "I think… I think I've found closure."

Wendy glanced at him. "You didn't have it before?"

"I've always had this… _feeling_… that it wasn't over. Every time I looked at that place or thought about it, I'd get this sense that something wasn't right. It's gone now."

They continued to lay there, completely comfortable with each other's presence. Wendy had a sudden thought. "Maybe… maybe you were supposed to be there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was this clue you found anything that really stood out?"

"It was a receipt."

"Had this been any other crime scene, any other receipt, would you have looked into it?"

Greg was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. Depends on the context, I suppose."

Placing her hand into his, Wendy continued her theory. "Maybe, without your experience, no one would have looked into that bar. Who knows what would have happened if you never arrested this guy. What events might have occurred?"

"You're saying that all this has happened for a reason?" Greg asked curiously.

Wendy shrugged. She suddenly doubted her ideas. They were probably stupid anyway. "I don't know what I'm saying. You're the psychic. You figure it out."

Greg let go of her hand and reached for her chin. Turning her head, he kissed her. "I love you," he said simply.

She gave him an odd smile and sat up. "Yeah, sure. You just love it when I stroke your ego."

Sitting beside her, Greg gave her a cheeky grin. Wendy narrowed her eyes. She knew where his mind went at the word 'stroke'.

"See, you're always thinking about sex."

"To be fair, you baited me."

Wendy made a face of mock surprise. "I did not! Your brain just happens to be in your penis."

Greg leaned over, pushing her back down onto the couch and pinning her there. "You might be right. Care to find out?"

Wendy tried to push him off of her, but she just didn't have the desire or the energy. She gave in as he attacked her neck. As much as she wanted to stay there, she knew they had to get out of that spot before the clothes started flying. "Whoa there, stud! We should probably take this out of the office."

"You on lunch?"

"No, just a coffee break."

"You're on lunch now! Come here!"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her off the couch. Greg led her out of the break room and toward his car. As they walked away, Wendy inquired as to what had happened with Nick. She received only a smile and something about being told in about five minutes.

The vending machine was left alone, basking in its victory glow.

* * *

The skies were clear that night. This allowed the moon to reflect off of the still waters of Lake Mead. The night was calm, tranquil. Yet there was still anxiety in the air.

Jeff McKeen was standing near a bench that rested on a hill overlooking the lake. His body was silhouetted against the glow of the cabin behind him. _His_ cabin. He and his wife would come up here for extended vacations. Sometimes they invited friends. She never asked how they were able to afford such a luxurious piece of real-estate. He figured she was too afraid to ask. That was how their marriage worked. Both could live in blissful ignorance as long as no questions were asked.

He was proud of the accomplishments he had achieved throughout his life. Of course, many of them were acquired through less than moral means. He wasn't a fool. He knew what he had been doing since he first got involved in his dealings. A bribe here, a little extortion there - it didn't really matter to him. They were all a means to an end. This cabin exemplified his status. His career was successful, his marriage was happy and no one dared touch him.

But now, things were not as he would have liked. His cabin had been commandeered by a group of thugs. He was being paid to keep them safe, but he never agreed to harbor them.

Turning away from the lake, McKeen walked briskly up the hill to the cabin. He saw two men standing on the front deck, one smoking a cigarette. This made him frown even more as he hated the foul tobacco sticks.

The offending man was big and blond. Although McKeen had never taken the time to learn his name, he knew it thanks to Queen's confession: Albrecht Krieger. The few times Krieger had spoken, McKeen noted his thick accent. Probably German. Next to him was Neal Emerson. He was slightly smaller and darker in complexion than his partner and thus was perceived as weaker. McKeen, however, was aware of Emerson's bloodlust. A trait both of the men possessed. They, along with their 'leader' Waylon Jones, were the ones who massacred the people at the Tangiers. The way they were looking at McKeen right now made him feel uneasy.

Moving past them as quickly as he could, McKeen entered the cabin. He was quick to place the other three surviving members of the group. Two of them were sitting uncomfortably by themselves near the large bay windows overlooking the lake. Again, McKeen had to remember from the confession what their names were. One was Thomas Elliot and the other was John Corben. He didn't know who was who though. _Like it mattered_. All he knew was that they were the 'smart ones'. They handled the planning of the operations.

The last man was the one that McKeen hated the most. Waylon Jones was sitting in the living room with his feet on the coffee table, watching some sport on the large, plasma screen television. Jones was the worst of them all and McKeen personally hoped that the man wouldn't survive this whole matter.

Ignoring the utter disregard the group was showing to his property, McKeen walked upstairs. On the landing, he saw that only one room was lit. He didn't have to guess as to who the occupant of the room was. McKeen didn't bother knocking on the door as he let himself into his own study. Sitting at his desk was Roland.

The older man looked up from his laptop at the intrusion. "What is it, Jeffrey?"

"I figured I should congratulate you." Although he was smiling, McKeen held no pleasantries in his voice.

Roland frowned. "For what?"

"Killing Queen. I'm assuming you hired somebody else to take care of the loose ends." This idea had been gnawing away at McKeen since Pritchard's death. If Roland had found someone else to do clean-up, what good was he?

Closing his computer, Roland looked at McKeen quizzically. "Queen's dead?"

Now McKeen frowned in confusion. "Yes. Stabbed to death. Figured it was done by the same guy who killed Pritchard. Who did you hire?"

"No one," Roland answered quietly.

"What do you mean? If you didn't hire anyone…"

Roland stared into space for a moment. Then a smile appeared. It was small but slightly unsettling. "Heh. Braun's catching on."

McKeen knew that Roland held some sort of grudge against the casino mogul. For what reason, he didn't care. However, he understood the power that Braun held and he knew that wronging the man would end badly for all involved.

"Braun? Are you sure?"

"I guessed it when that idiot Pritchard got himself killed. Now I know." Roland reopened his computer. "Doesn't matter, though. I figured he'd catch on eventually."

McKeen stared at the man, unable to fathom the uncaring demeanor he was now carrying. "If Braun knew about Queen, he probably knows about the rest of your thugs as well."

The older man looked sharply at the undersheriff. "Queen never mentioned my name, correct? Nor did he mention yours?"

"That's right."

"Then we have no reason to fear. All those people downstairs are nothing more than pawns to me - pieces in a chess game."

"Well, it seems you've lost most of your pieces."

Roland shrugged. "Only the small ones. I still posses my knights and bishops. As well as my queen," he added as he eyed McKeen. "Braun has lost more. Far more than even _he_ realizes."

"So, now you and your gang are just going to hide here?" McKeen was losing his patience.

"You have a problem with that? I'm paying you for protection. _Provide _it."

Scowling at the man, McKeen fingered his sidearm. Realizing now was not the time, he let his hand fall to his side. Seeing that Roland's attention had returned to his laptop, McKeen turned and walked out. He had other things to worry about at the moment. He was able to undermine Vartann, but the investigation into the mole was still going on. He'd have to do something about that.

* * *

A/N: This is the end of Greg's story arc. Don't worry, he'll still be appearing a lot in the story. Wendy not as much but she'll still be there.

As to what's going on, who's killing who and who's working for who... well, all the clues are there. As to why, that will be explained soon. Stick with me.

Another big thank you to happyharper13. I love her and so should you.


	24. Internal Affairs

Chapter 24: Internal Affairs

Rubbing his face with both hands, Vartann tried to work out his frustration. Although the detective hadn't been removed from the investigation, McKeen was making things difficult. It was almost as though the undersheriff was _trying_ to undermine him.

The debriefing took a couple hours. First was Brass, then him and then Akers.

Vartann didn't believe for a second that any of them were involved. Brass was well regarded as clean cop. He hated corruption. Akers was a family man. He was married with a baby. There was no motive. As far as Vartann knew, that left only one other person.

"Come on, man," Warrick said. The CSI had met up with Vartann at PD after the detectives debriefing. "You honestly don't believe that."

Vartann looked up at the man. "I don't know what to believe."

Warrick looked at him as though he were trying to get a clearer picture of the man. "I know what I _can't_ believe. You thinking that Curtis is the mole."

"Give me some better theories," Vartann challenged.

"What about the ADA?"

"Maddie?" Vartann scoffed at the idea. "You've obviously never met the woman. She's probably the squeakiest person here other than Brass."

"Akers?"

Vartann just raised an eyebrow at Brown. Warrick nodded and took back the suggestion.

"So, why automatically suggest Sofia? Why not McKeen?"

"I don't want to believe that Detective Curtis is involved. I haven't ruled out McKeen either," Vartann added. "But look at the evidence here. Curtis was one of the first officers to arrive at both casinos. She's the one who ran the interrogation with Queen. She's also one of only people who knew about our internal investigation."

Warrick didn't look impressed, so Vartann continued. "Like I said, I haven't ruled out McKeen. The guy does seem to know a lot about what's going on. The thing is neither Brass nor I have informed him of anything. That leaves Curtis. If she has been blabbing to him, what's stopping her from informing someone else?"

"It's still pretty flimsy," said Warrick. "I never really worked with her back in the day, but Grissom did. He trusts her. Brass does as well. That has to count for something."

"Yeah," Vartann agreed, his focus turning to his own thoughts.

That did count for something. He really didn't want Sofia to be involved. Vartann felt a connection to her. She was strong and independent. She certainly wasn't afraid of anything. Watching her overcome the investigation into the death of Officer Bell really opened his eyes. He knew that if she came out of that with her head held high, she could get through anything.

But everyone had a limit. He had been hearing the talk about her for months. Some of it had to have been reaching her ears. He noticed how she had become depressed. She went through the motions of the job, but wasn't really feeling the spark. Seeing someone fall like that really made you wonder. What would someone do to feel alive again? What would _Sofia_ do?

Mentally shaking his head, Vartann knew he was being foolish. Sofia would never be party to the crimes that were occurring. He just had to talk to her. There had to be something missing, and maybe she would have the clue. He hoped she would anyway.

The sound of a cell phone going off made Vartann look over at the CSI. Brown pulled out his phone and glanced at it. He gave a little smile and put the phone back. Catching Vartann's eye, Warrick only shrugged.

"Tina," he answered the unspoken question.

"Ah. How is the old lady?"

"She's pretty good."

"Have the hormones gone haywire yet?"

Warrick chuckled. "Nah. At least I don't think so. She has been talking a lot about baby names though"

Vartann raised an eyebrow. "Baby names? Isn't it a little early?"

"Yeah, I thought so. I think she's just a little excited."

"Have you got them narrowed down yet?"

Warrick frowned. "Hah! You mean has _she_ got them narrowed down yet. Tina won't listen to anything I suggest."

Vartann smiled. "Sounds like the hormones have kicked in. What are the names?"

"Abigail if it's a girl. Elijah for a boy."

"Abby and Eli, huh? Do you like 'em?"

Warrick shrugged. "I dunno. Hopefully I'll get a say-so when the time comes."

"You can only hope, man," Vartann said with a laugh.

"What about you?" Warrick inquired. "Have you got any women on the side?"

The good-natured smile left Vartann's face. He shrugged off Warrick's question and tried to refocus on the case. "We should probably look through everything we have on our suspects to see if we can link anything to McKeen, Curtis or someone else. I've got the personnel files here. How about you go back to the Lab and comb through the evidence?"

Nodding in agreement, Warrick stood up. "Sure. I have a few ideas on what to look for."

"Great. Good luck," Vartann said simply. As Warrick turned to leave the office, Vartann said one more thing. "Hey. Don't tell anyone, okay? Not even Grissom."

Warrick looked at the detective before nodding. He wasn't comfortable with hiding things from his friends, but he knew why Vartann needed secrecy.

* * *

With a review file in hand, Catherine headed toward the break-room for some coffee and to grab a bite from her lunch. As she approached her destination, Catherine noticed someone sitting at the table.

It was Nick. And he was humming to himself.

This struck her as odd. For the past few weeks Nick had been sullen and moody. To see him… well, happy - that was a pleasant surprise.

"Hey, Nick," Catherine greeted as she entered the room. "You're in a pretty good mood."

Looking up at the woman, Nick smiled. "Yeah, guess I am."

"Well, it's certainly a refreshing. What's brought on your good cheer?" As she asked, Catherine's eyes went wide. "Oh! Have you talked to that McCabe woman? Have you been approved?"

Nick shook his head. "Nah, I haven't heard anything from her yet. I figure she still has a few things to check up on." He quickly thought of Pete, then pushed the man aside. "I just feel like a great weight has been lifted off of me."

"Really? Which one?"

"I talked with Greg."

Catherine had been pouring herself a cup of coffee as he said that. She almost dropped the pot. Turning to look at him, her mouth fell open. "You told Greg? What happened? How did he take it? Why did you tell him? I thought you were trying to get over him?"

When she finished asking her questions, Nick only smiled. "I'm not gonna go into details on why, but he handled it pretty well."

"Really?" When Nick only nodded, Catherine narrowed her eyes at him. "You have to give me more than that. I've been invested in this story for a while, so spill!"

After a brief chuckle, Nick gave a few more details. "He let me down kindly, said that it changed nothing between us and then hugged me."

"Wow. That was gentlemanly of him. So nothing's changed?"

Nick shrugged. "Well, I expect a few gay jokes. He laid around five on me during our conversation. It was good-natured though."

Cath smiled at him. "So, now that your secret crush knows, what are you going to do?"

Nick thought about that. "I don't know. Now that I've got an answer from Greg, I think it'll be easier to move on. Confirmation that I made a right choice, you know."

Confirmation. Catherine wondered what that would feel like to have. At least Greg laid out exactly what his feelings for Nick were. She looked at the happy expression on the Texan's face. How he could be so happy after a rejection? The more she thought about it, the more bewildered she became. Could that be what she was missing? She knew there was much that hadn't been said between her and Warrick. Maybe if she showed all of her cards, it would force him to do the same. Then she would get her confirmation.

"I'm happy for you, Nicky. I guess that means I can start hooking you up, right?" Catherine asked with a sly grin on her face.

Blushing, Nick repositioned himself. "I…uh… I think I can handle that myself."

"You're not going to go after another guy in the lab, are you? If so, I think Henry's single-"

"Whoa!" Nick cried. "First of all, Greg's as geeky as I go. Second, I'm not interested in anyone else in the lab. Third… wait… Henry's gay?"

Catherine laughed. "Why? You interested?"

Nick scoffed at the notion. "I already said I wasn't. Just curious is all."

"No, I don't think Henry's gay," Catherine laughed. "Just a momma's boy."

"Yeah," Nick said casually. "Anyway. Third, I don't want you hooking me up with anyone. I'm perfectly capable of finding my own date."

"Whatever you say there, Nick." Catherine finished grabbing herself some refreshments and started toward her office. "In case you're ever interested, I know a few drag queens who'd love to get themselves a hot piece of Texan ass."

She high-tailed it out of there as Nick glared at her and snapped a pencil in half.

* * *

Sofia was feeling angry and confused. She hated the way she had been given the Queen case. Both Brass and Vartann had been pushed aside. Now it looked like she was getting special treatment.

What was McKeen playing at? He hinted that he would only try to get her high profile cases. The Queen case wasn't high profile. If anything, it was a disaster. Queen had been their only source of information. The Blue Martini was still closed, but it held no secrets to be uncovered. The surviving members of the gang were gone and had covered their tracks well. Any possible hiding spots went with Queen to the grave.

What was worse, though, was the sense that Queen hadn't revealed everything. He hesitated in interrogation about how many members were in his group. He told her that Waylon Jones – who they discovered to be an ex-con from Illinois – was the leader. The way he said it, however, made her think otherwise. Someone else was pulling the strings. Someone who scared Queen so much that he wouldn't confess the name.

Nearing McKeen's office, Sofia hardened herself for the upcoming confrontation. She wanted answers and she wasn't going to take any of the undersheriff's bullshit. His door was closed, as usual, but that didn't deter her. Without knocking, Sofia barged into the office. She found nothing. The office was empty. She found that unusual. McKeen was usually in his office at that hour.

Knowing she shouldn't be there, Sofia made a quick scan of the office – noting only a few papers and a business card on McKeen's desk – before turning around and leaving.

"What are you doing?"

After shutting the office door, Sofia turned her head to see who was talking to her. Walking toward her was Vartann. His expression was unreadable, emotionless.

"I'm looking for the undersheriff," she replied simply.

Vartann continued to stare at her. "He left early. Said he had to take care of the wife. Figured you knew that."

Sofia smiled in disbelief at his tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I just thought you and he were keeping in touch."

"Hey!" The smile disappeared from her face. "I know what this is about. I didn't ask to be given the Queen case. I'm sorry that you were taken off, but I had nothing to do with it."

Vartann's eyes softened, but only a little. "I know McKeen. I've worked under him a lot longer than you have. He only gives favors when he receives them. What did he receive from you? What favors did you give him?"

Seething with anger, Sofia took several steps toward Vartann. "How dare you! I've never done anything to compromise my character. I'm only here _because_ I've never compromised it. You talk like I actively sought out McKeen to get promotions or rewards. McKeen came to _me_. And I never agreed or offered anything." Her eyes were flashing red, her voice was laced with cold fury. She didn't have to take this. "Is this how men think of their female counterparts? Do you feel so threatened by me that you have to believe that the only way I could advance myself is through sacrificing my morals or my body? I've received nothing but grief and insults since I've been here. For what? First, I thought it was because I was a civilian, a scientist. Then, I figured it was the left-over stigma from the Bell shooting. Now, it's apparently based on my questionable ethics. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Surprised by this outburst, Vartann took a step back. He didn't back down from the argument though. "I've never had a problem with you as a woman or a scientist. I never doubted you during the Bell investigation. But, as to your ethics, I have one question. Did you tell McKeen about my search for a mole?"

Sofia blinked. "He already knew."

"So you told him? Damn-it, Sofia! Neither Brass nor I mentioned it to him. How else could he have found out if not from you?"

What was he talking about? Of course McKeen knew. He had said so during their meeting. He… no. He never said anything. She had asked him what he thought about it. Sofia grew pale as she realized what she had done.

Yet she wasn't going to give in. "Alright, I might have screwed up. I admit it. But do you honestly believe I would tell him in return for a favor?"

When Vartann didn't answer, she knew. "You know something, Tony? I thought you were different. That's what I liked about you. You didn't change when I came over to homicide. Come to find out, there was nothing to change." Sofia's tone had changed. The anger was gone, replaced with disappointment.

"Sofia…" Vartann started. "You're right. I haven't changed. I still look at you the same way. I –"

For the first time in the conversation, Sofia looked away. "You know what, don't say anything. Let's just walk away and continue on as usual. That's what everyone here does anyway."

Brushing past him, Sofia made to exit the hall and escape to her office. Vartann stopped her though. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked at him, eyes speaking of a desire to attack him.

"Shut up for a moment, Sofia. I'm sorry how everyone has been treating you. I can only imagine how that makes you feel. But I'm not one of them. I'm looking for a crooked cop and anyone could be it. Here I find out that one of the few people I trust told one of the ones I don't. I need to know that I can trust you. Can I?"

Sofia blinked back her emotions. Meeting his gaze, she held it defiantly. "Yes. You can trust me."

"Good." Then Vartann grabbed her other arm and pulled Sofia into him. As their lips touched, each released their tension and stress. Relief washed over them as her arms broke free and wrapped around him. One of Vartann's hands rested in the small of her back as the other cradled the back of her head.

The kiss lasted forever and for no time at all. When they broke apart, each stared into the other's eyes. Letting go of the embrace, Sofia stepped back. She pointed down the hall.

"I've... uh… I've got some paper-work to file."

Vartann, breathless, nodded. "Yeah. I do too, I think. Yeah."

"Good."

"Good."

With a smile overcoming her features, Sofia nodded at him. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later." Vartann could only smile back.

"Good."

"Good."

* * *

Warrick pulled into the parking lot at the Crime Lab. After his meeting with Vartann, he'd been feeling very uneasy. Working over the case in his mind, the identity of the mole was starting to eat at him. Before Oliver Queen's murder, the crooked cop seemed… removed. Warrick never really knew Pritchard, so his involvement left little impact. Up until Queen's death, Warrick always assumed the other crooked cop would also be someone not entirely within his own sphere. Now, however, it felt… different. It could be someone he worked with - someone he knew.

As he stepped out of his car, Warrick's cell phone went off. Without even looking to see who it was, he answered.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, baby," _replied Tina's voice.

Warrick smiled. "Hey! What are you still doing up?"

"_Couldn't sleep. How's work?"_

"Okay. How was your day? Sorry I didn't get a chance to see you before I left."

"_Ah, that's okay. I'm counting down the days until you change shifts." _Warrick's smile dimmed slightly. _"My day was good. Told a few of my friends about little Eli. They want to throw us a party."_

"I thought we were going to both decide on the name. We don't even know the sex yet."

"_You don't like the name?"_

Warrick sighed. "I never said that. I just think it's a little soon. It's only the size of grape."

"_I just want this to be real. Everything has been so convoluted between us lately. I know this baby will only help. Forgive me if I'm a little excited about it."_

Frowning, Warrick responded. "I'm sorry. Yeah, it is exciting. I just think we need to talk about names more. You haven't even given me a chance to make suggestions."

"_Alright, we'll talk about it. I'll just use Eli as a stand-in, okay?"_

"That's fine," Warrick replied with a smile. "So what are you doing?"

"_I'm in the kitchen grabbing a snack."_

"Don't you think it's a little late to be eating?"

"_I was hungry."_

"I think that's only psychological. You haven't even begun to show yet. You know you're pregnant so now you think you have to eat."

"_Are you a doctor now?"_

Another sigh. "No. Do you want me to bring you home something? A deep-fried buffalo?"

"_Buffalo come after the second trimester. I'm actually in the mood for Skittles."_

"Skittles? I don't think we have any."

"_Damn. When are you going to be home? Can you pick up some Skittles on the way?"_

"I still have a few hours left. Can you hold out until then?"

"_I'll try. Hey, also can you pick up a bag of chicharrones? _

"Pork rinds and Skittles?"

_Please? The sooner the better."_

Warrick looked over at the building in front of him. No one would notice if he was a little late, right? "How about I drop by real quick? Would you like that?"

"_Yes! And don't forget the snacks!"_

Laughing, Warrick turned back toward his vehicle. "I won't. See ya in a bit. Love you."

"_Love you too."_

_

* * *

_

A/N: This ends Act Four. The Final Act is set to begin.

Now, I really want to know people's thoughts on Sofia/Vartann. To be honest, I didn't plan on it. It just... sort of... happened. I like it.

How is everyone liking Tina? I'm trying to make her real and likeable. Am I succeeding? Oh, and Yo!Bling fans, all I can say is trust me.

Another thank you to the lovely Happyharper 13. Her advice is priceless.

(Just a quick bit of shameless advertising. I've been nominated in the CSI Fanfic Awards. Anyone wanting to check it out...maybe vote...just google it.)


	25. Requiem

Chapter 25: Requiem

Noise was absent within the Denali. Both driver and passenger were silent. Both were lost within their own minds as they tried to steel their emotions for the upcoming crime scene. Fear was present in each set of eyes.

When they had received the call, both felt their hearts sink. They knew the address they were being sent to. They knew who had lived there.

_Lived _there.

Neither were sure who, if anyone, lived there now.

Nick looked over at Catherine. Her eyes were glossed over and her vacant gaze betrayed obvious fear. It scared the passenger. Scared him more than he could imagine. It seemed to amplify his own fear. He had to look away.

As the Denali closed in on the house in Summerlin, they saw the cluster of parked police vehicles and the flashing lights. Gathered around were various uniforms holding back the crowd of neighbors who had filed out of their homes.

There was already another Denali at the scene. Pulling up next to it, Catherine put her vehicle in park and stepped out. Nick followed. Without looking at each other, they stared at the house.

Neither moved.

For all intents and purposes, the house looked normal. Just another cookie-cutter home in suburbia. But the flashing police lights dancing across the structure made it seem ominous. A chill ran down Nick's spine.

The two criminalists didn't notice when someone approached them. Only after that someone had made a greeting did they look.

It was Sara.

She had tears in her eyes, but they didn't fall. Nick could tell she was fighting back her emotions.

A lump formed in Nick's throat. Seeing Sara in this uncommon state - this emotional distress - unnerved him. His worst fears seemed to be coming to fruition.

Catherine couldn't speak. It seemed that it was the look in Sara's eyes that almost made her crack. It was Nick who spoke up.

"Where… where is he?"

Sara swallowed. "Inside. Gris…" Her voice broke. "Grissom's with him."

Nodding, Nick started toward the house. After a second's hesitation, Catherine followed. They were approaching the front door when another familiar face, David the assistant coroner, appeared.

He was pulling a gurney. On it was a black body bag. It was full.

David opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Closing his mouth, he just gave a slight nod to Nick and continued on. Nick's jaw clenched as he looked at the body bag. Behind him, he heard Catherine mutter something that sounded like 'God'. He couldn't turn around though. He couldn't look at Catherine or back at the body.

They stepped into the house. The front room was unlit. In fact, the entire house was dark. And quiet.

There were several uniforms standing in the living room. Looking around, they noticed Brass near the entrance to the kitchen. When he saw them, he quickly crossed the room.

Offering only a slight hand wave, he jumped right into business. "Looks like a home invasion gone wrong. Nothing appears to be stolen. Suspect probably fled after…" The detective trailed off. He couldn't say what had happened.

Nick pointed toward the front door with his thumb. "And the… uh…"

"Single gunshot wound to the head. Probably died instantly."

It was candid, almost brutal, in its bluntness. Nick looked at the detective. Brass stared back, bags apparent under his eyes. They didn't appear to be from drowsiness or fatigue.

For the first time since they arrived, Nick hesitated. If something was enough to make Jim Brass cry, perhaps then it was too much.

With a shudder, Nick made the necessary steps toward the kitchen. Catherine stayed behind.

At the threshold, Nick peered into the room. His eyes immediately fell to the large blood pool on the ground. Next to it was a separate pool of brown liquid. There was an overturned jug of chocolate milk on the counter next to the refrigerator. Blood spatter covered the appliance and surrounding walls and counters. He could only guess the circumstances.

His eyes were drawn to the other two figures in the room. He had to stifle a gasp. The sense of foreboding he had had dissipated. Looking back at the blood pool, pieces began to fit together in his mind.

* * *

_Tina hung up the phone. Glancing at the refrigerator, she knew she couldn't wait for her husband. Inside was a jug of chocolate milk. Still craving something sweet, she grabbed it eagerly. She thought about drinking straight from the container but she opted for a glass instead. Setting the milk on the counter, she reached for the glassware._

_Suddenly, a loud noise erupted from the living room. Startled, Tina jumped back, knocking the milk over. She stared, wide-eyed, toward the threshold to the living room. The only light on was the one being emitted from the open refrigerator._

_A figure appeared out of the shadows. _

_Tina, terrified, couldn't move. The figure raised an arm. _

_She noticed the gun in the figure's hand. Tina screamed as the gun fired._

* * *

Nick's eyes moved away from the blood pool. He focused once more on the men seated at the kitchen table.

Grissom had been leaning toward the other man. It looked like he had been offering words of either encouragement or condolence. His face was a mask of concern. Very uncharacteristically, his eyes were red. Wrinkles cast shadows across his face, betraying his age. He looked up at Nick. His red eyes showed nothing but sorrow.

Unsettled, Nick looked away from the older man. Unfortunately, he focused on the other person at the table. It was Warrick. His head was facing downward, eyes unseen and unseeing. Nick tried to swallow as he looked at his best friend. He found he couldn't. Warrick's hands and shirt were covered in blood. Nick knew whose blood that was and why it was there.

* * *

_Warrick pulled into his driveway. After parking, he grabbed the shopping bag off the seat next to him. With a slight smile, he shook his head. Skittles and fried pig skin, delicious. Walking up the path, he reached for his keys knowing that Tina always locked the door when he wasn't home._

_That's when he stopped. The front door was open. Cautiously, he approached it. He noticed it had been busted in. Panic began to override caution. Running into the house, he started screaming for his wife. There was no answer. He saw a light on in the kitchen and he raced toward the room. He froze at the sight in front of him._

_Tina was on the ground, lying on her side. He saw the blood pooling around her; the splatter on the surrounding area. Without a second thought, he ran to her and wrapped his arms around her body._

"_Tina? Tina?! TINA!"_

_Tears started to stream down his face as he cradled his wife's body. He didn't care that blood was running through his hands, staining his clothes. He didn't care that he was contaminating a crime scene. He just cared that his wife was gone._

* * *

Nick could only stand there and stare. He was at a loss for words. What did you say when someone lost a loved one? He had done this before, but only with strangers who he'd never see again. How do you say sorry to a friend who has had their wife stolen from him?

He was saved from having to say anything by the re-emergence of Brass, followed by that of Catherine and Sara. Catherine walked over to Warrick and knelt down beside him. When she wrapped her arm around his back, Warrick showed his first sign of life. The sound of broken sobs filled the room. The others could do nothing but stand in sorrowful silence.

Looking at his friends, Nick couldn't help but analyze each one. Grissom, sitting by his oldest protégé, attempting to offer whatever words of comfort he could manage.

Catherine, openly weeping, offering the emotional support Warrick probably needed. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her hand gently pressing his head against the top hers. Nick could see she wanted to cry, was begging to cry, but refusing to. She needed to be strong for Warrick, whose own tears were freely falling.

Brass, his face hardened by years of suffering, still had eyes that betrayed his feelings. He was clearly trying not to stare at the display in front of him and was failing miserably.

Standing the furthest away was Sara. She looked conflicted. Nick caught the slight twitch in her hand, the muscle movement in her leg. Sara appeared to want to move, possibly closer to the three at the table. Although Nick had never known Sara as the maternal sort, he could see that right now she wanted to help. Even as she fought off her emotions, she still wanted to offer a hand or a shoulder. She just didn't quite know how.

Blinking back his own emotion, Nick knew what had to be done. He silently caught Brass's eye. The scene needed to be processed. Tina needed justice. Yet Nick was unwilling to start working the scene with Warrick still there. He tried to convey this to Brass. When the detective nodded slowly, Nick knew his message was received.

"Warrick?" Brass asked softly. He waited for the grieving man's sobs to lessen before continuing. "I know how hard this is, but can you come with me? I'm going to have to ask you a few questions."

"Where are they?" The words that came out of Warrick's mouth were surprisingly strong.

"David's already taken her away," Catherine whispered.

"They?" Sara asked quietly, a look of confusion on her face.

Nick looked at her. He had just remembered that Tina was pregnant. Warrick not only lost a wife, but a child as well. His heart sank even more.

"Tina was pregnant," Catherine responded.

Sara's mouth dropped as a single tear finally escaped and ran down her cheek. Grissom's eyes widened and Brass closed his.

"How… how far along was it?" The detective asked, his eyes still closed and his voice a whisper.

"He," Warrick clarified. "His name is… name _was_ Eli." His strong voice broke.

"Come on," Brass said. "A few questions and then you can go to the hospital."

Slowly, Warrick rose from his chair. His bloodstained appearance made Nick look away. With precise steps, he walked past the detective and toward the front door. Brass followed behind, offering support.

Sara swallowed. "I'll go with him." She looked expectantly over at the others in the room.

Catherine continued to stare at the seat Warrick had vacated, her hands shaking. Nick wanted to go; he wanted to comfort his friend. But he knew that bringing justice to the shattered family was just as important.

When no one responded, Sara left the room, trailing after the men.

Grissom stood up. He helped Catherine to her feet and looked at Nick. "We should get to work."

Catherine wiped the moisture from her eyes. "Are we allowed to work this scene? Ecklie doesn't have a problem with it?"

"No. He understood."

Nick turned away from his colleagues and looked around the kitchen. His attention turned toward the spray pattern on the walls and counters. "She was shot in the head, right?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah. Death was probably instantaneous." His voice, although quiet, reverent even, had returned to a more business-like tone.

Nick began walking toward the area with the most spatter. "With this much blood on the walls, the bullet would have to have gone straight through." He began examining the walls for any sort of indentation. It didn't take long to find it. Looking closer, he saw the gleam of a metallic object. He took out a pair of tweezers and extracted it. "I've got a bullet. 9 millimeter. Consistent with a Beretta."

Catherine frowned. "A Beretta? Why would you say a Beretta?"

Nick didn't answer. It was the first thought that entered his mind.

Catherine looked at Grissom. "You don't think this has anything to do with the case, do you?"

Grissom didn't look at her. "It might…"

"Why Warrick?" Catherine asked. Her voice was desperate. "Better yet, why Tina? There've been CSIs and uniforms all over this. Why target him?"

Grissom looked at the two pairs of eyes watching him expectantly. "Warrick was carrying on a different investigation. One that was separate but still connected to the casinos."

Nick blinked. "What kind of investigation?"

"It's believed that Pritchard had help from someone within the department. Warrick was looking into it."

Catherine's jaw dropped. "You mean a cop did this?! As payback? A warning?"

"It's possible."

Nick closed his eyes and turned away. One dirty cop was enough. Was Tina murdered as a warning? What if Warrick had been home? Feeling anger bubble up inside him, Nick bagged the bullet and started toward the living room. He couldn't help but wish for the opportunity to meet this crooked bastard.

"I want back on the case," Nick heard Catherine say.

"Catherine –" Grissom began.

"Gil, please. I won't be dealing with Sam. I'll confine myself to the other aspects of the case. Come on. You can't expect me to just sit on the sidelines of this one."

Nick glanced behind to see what Grissom would say. The older man appeared to be considering Catherine's demand.

"Alright." His voice was tired sounding.

"Thank you," Catherine said with relief.

"Hey guys," Nick interjected. "I'll start processing the front room, okay?"

Grissom nodded. "Sure. Catherine, care to help me with the kitchen here?"

"…yeah."

Nick walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. After a quick sweep of the area, he decided to start with the door.

It was obvious that the door had been bashed in. The deadbolt had been busted and the door frame was splintered. Thinking that it was kicked in, Nick examined the outer door for any indication of a footprint. He didn't find one.

Standing up, he scrutinized the door.

If you didn't kick it in, how would you break it open?

With your shoulder.

Feeling around the middle of the door, Nick noted the slight indent. To use your shoulder, you needed leverage.

For leverage you needed support.

The door handle.

After printing the handle, Nick frowned. Nothing. Either the perp had gloves or didn't use the handle. Betting against the odds, Nick figured they didn't use the handle. Without the support of the handle, once the door was busted open the suspect would have stumbled and fell. Unless they were able to catch themselves.

Nick's eyes wandered over to the door frame. Using his print dust, examined the frame. His eyes widened. There were a few partials there.

"Hey!" Nick yelled.

Grissom appeared out of the kitchen. "What is it? Have you got something?"

"Fingerprints."

"Good. Hopefully they don't belong to Warrick or Tina."

"Hopefully." Nick collected the evidence. He just hoped that if they belonged to the murderer, they were in the system.

He spent some time examining the doorway and room further. He found no other signs of what had happened. With a sigh, he started back to the kitchen.

Grissom had walked outside, possibly to look at the exterior walkway and yard. That left Catherine alone in the kitchen.

When Nick entered, he saw her standing by the island. Her eyes were on the jug of chocolate milk. Every few seconds, a dark droplet would fall and splatter in the creamy liquid below. Nick never noticed the sound before.

Slowly, he approached Catherine. When he touched her shoulder, she jumped violently.

"Sorry, Cath. I didn't mean to startle you," Nick offered apologetically.

She turned and looked at him. Then, without warning, she let out a terrible cry. Without a seconds thought, Nick pulled her into a hug. He held her as tight as he could as she released all of her emotions.

Between the sobs, Nick could make out that she was speaking.

"I… I thought… it… was… him."

Nick shut his eyes tight. "So did I."

They stood like that for awhile. Catherine, her hands gripping onto Nick's shirt for dear life, cried like she hadn't cried before. Nick, eyes shut, rubbed soothing circles on her back.

Finally, Catherine calmed down. She pulled away from her Texan anchor. Wiping her eyes, she looked at Nick.

"I'm sorry. I… shouldn't have lost it like that."

Nick smiled. "It's alright. I would have done the same thing."

Looking away from the distraught woman, Nick stared again at the blood pool. Then he looked back at Catherine.

"You need any help?"

Catherine's eyes darted around in embarrassment. "I think I do."

Nick gave her another smile - one to tell her everything would be alright - then bent down next to the pool of drying crimson.

* * *

A/N: Here starts the final act.

I asked how you liked Tina so I could gauge your reactions to this. I'm sorry about Eli. He was just collateral damage. Again, sorry.

Big thank you to my beta, happyharper13, who helped me find the emotional feel for this chapter.

Only five chapter left. Please review and tell me your thoughts and feelings on what just happened.


	26. Hangman's Knot

Chapter 26: Hangman's Knot

The restroom was quiet, as it should have been. But for some reason it was an unnatural silence, as if it was mirroring the solemn feeling that had overtaken the entire crime lab. It made Jeff McKeen uneasy.

After washing his hands, McKeen stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't know what he was looking for, let alone if he was seeing it. The eyes that stared back at him were his own. Nothing was hidden. Nothing was revealed. There was nothing.

Turning away, he reached for some paper towels and dried his hands. With one last glance at his reflection, he exited the restroom.

Though the rooms had changed, the atmosphere did not. The news of Tina Brown's murder had shot through the lab like shit through a goose. No one knew what to say or how to act. They hadn't lost one of their own, but it was close. Only a handful of employees had actually met her, and there were even a few who didn't know who she was. But everyone knew Warrick.

The news of Tina's pregnancy hadn't been revealed yet beyond personal friends and the coroner. Another shock that would hit the lab hard as soon as it was revealed.

After placing his location, McKeen set out on his task. He had come to the lab to meet with Conrad Ecklie. It was crucial that he get Ecklie and the lab to look away from the murder of Mrs. Brown and focus on other cases, at least for the time being. It would help if he could stall them on the Tangiers case as well. Any delay would be beneficial.

After walking down the glass corridors for a few minutes, he stopped. He saw a meeting taking place in the conference room. It appeared all the night shift CSI's were there, sans Warrick Brown. From his vantage point, McKeen could see most of their faces.

Grissom was talking to the group, his face betraying his usual stoniness. Sidle watched him, her expression equally cold. Her head nodded along with whatever her supervisor said. Stokes stared off into space, his jaw clenched and eyes unblinking, while Sanders watched Grissom as well. Unlike Sidle, Sander's face was pale and his eyes wide with horror. Willows was the only one McKeen couldn't see. Her face was directed downward, hair concealing her features.

He noted a few techs lingering by the closed door. The dark-haired DNA tech appeared to be standing sentry to the room. She bit her fingernails anxiously and only moved when another tech, the one from Trace, walked by. Apparently she had said something rude to him because he marched off with a scowl on his face.

McKeen had a pretty good idea what Grissom and his team were talking about. He'd have to put a stop to that.

"Undersheriff?" a voice behind McKeen asked.

Turning around, McKeen saw the man he was looking for.

"Ecklie," he acknowledged. With his hand, McKeen indicated the conference room. "What's going on in there?"

Conrad looked over the undersheriff's shoulder at the meeting taking place. "Grissom and his team are discussing Tina Brown's murder. I was just about to head in there and see how they want to handle the investigation."

"You're allowing them to work the murder of a teammate's family member? I can't have that. Tell Grissom that he and his team are off the case. Hand it over to swing. There are higher priority cases out there they can work."

Ecklie's face didn't change. He stared at the undersheriff for a moment before continuing. "I've actually received the okay for the grave shift to handle the case."

McKeen's eyes flashed. "Who gave you the okay?" he demanded.

"The sheriff. He also said that this is now a high priority case. The murder of a city employee's wife apparently doesn't look very good. Especially one who was a respected physician at Desert Palms."

Seething with anger, McKeen turned away from the assistant director and walked briskly down the hall. As he neared the exit, however, the anger at being passed over in the chain of command subsided. What did he have to worry about? He'd covered his tracks well enough, didn't he? Of course he had. At least he hoped he had.

* * *

Inside the conference room, having just finished relaying the sheriff's orders, Grissom looked around at the members of his team. They appeared to still be absorbing everything. He gave them all the time they needed.

Greg, attempting to collect his senses, spoke first. "How's Warrick?"

Grissom gave the young man a sad smile. "About as well as can be expected. He's been given as much personal leave as he needs to… get everything in order." Of course, he was referring to funeral arrangements and the like.

Nick swallowed. "Is anyone staying with him?" Though his face remained stern, the Texan's voice was flooded with concern for his friend.

"Tina's mother is flying in," Grissom replied. "She's rented a suite for them to stay in," Grissom paused, "until Warrick's house is released."

"If he even wants to go back there," Nick added under his breath.

Ignoring the comment, Grissom set about to business. "Alright, both the sheriff and Ecklie have allowed us to continue working this case. As I've told you, Warrick was investigating the possibility of a mole in the department –"

"Possibility?" Sara interrupted. "I think it's pretty obvious now that there is one."

Grissom frowned at her. "Until we have evidence to support that –"

"So Tina was targeted because of Warrick and his case?" Greg asked. "What's to stop this guy from coming after one of us or our loved ones?" Panic was evident in his eyes and voice.

Nick cast a glare in Greg's direction before focusing on Grissom. "If you want us to continue 'Rick's investigation, Gris, we'll be glad to do it." His eyes turned back to Greg, this time catching the younger man's attention with a reprimanding look. Greg turned slightly red and cast his eyes downward.

"You and I will be taking over where Warrick left off, Nick," said Grissom. "I'll be going over everything Warrick has figured out so far. I want you to take care of anything found at Warrick's house."

Nick nodded. "I've got Mandy running those prints I found by the door. Bobby's also gonna be looking at the bullet we recovered. I'm… uh… I'm gonna check in on Doc Robbins later. With the autopsy…" he trailed off.

Grissom acknowledged Nick with a nod. "I want everyone else to focus on the rest of the case. Follow any lead, no matter how obscure it might seem. What have we got so far?"

Sara cleared her throat. "Well, we know the names of all the people involved. Rory Regan, Michael Holt and Oliver Queen are obviously dead. If we believe what Queen told us, then Hartley Rathaway, Hank Henshaw, Sebastian Ballesteros and Cliff Zmeck were killed in the Pikes explosion. That leaves Waylon Jones, Neal Emerson, Albrecht Krieger, John Corben and Thomas Elliot."

"And whoever the corrupt cop is," Nick chimed in.

"Yeah, and him," Sara agreed quietly. "We also know that they tend to kill anyone who might turn them in or risk their exposure. We suspect that Regan was murdered because he got sloppy, Pritchard killed Holt to keep him quiet, same thing happened with Pritchard, and finally Queen was killed because he turned snitch."

"What about the way they were killed?" asked Nick. "Regan was shot with a Beretta, the same gun used by the group at the Tangiers. But Pritchard and Queen were stabbed. Why go from a surefire method of execution to a more risky one?"

Grissom responded to this. "Perhaps someone else took care of them. Let's speculate that whoever killed Regan is no longer one of the surviving members. Someone else from the group could be acting as their enforcer and he prefers using a knife."

Nick leaned back in his chair. "I don't know. Something feels off about it. Tina was killed with a Beretta. Why go back to a different form?"

"I can't answer that yet, Nick," replied Grissom. "Not until we uncover the murder weapons. Now, what else have we got?"

A thought suddenly occurred to Sara. She turned toward Greg. "Did you ever look into those business cards we found?"

"Actually, Archie and I did a little research into them," Greg responded.

"Business cards?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah," replied Greg. "We collected the same business cards from Holt and Pritchard and from Queen's apartment. They're for an agricultural manufacturing company out in Ohio. Desmond Industrial."

"What have you found out about it?"

"Nothing that links it to Las Vegas or Braun. It apparently holds no contract for anything west of the Rockies. The company went public around 5 years ago. Before that, it was a family business owned by two brothers." Greg opened the file that he had brought with him to the meeting and scanned its contents. "Marc and Roland Desmond. They started the company around thirty years ago. They ran it together. Marc Desmond died about fifteen years ago from liver disease. Roland was the sole owner until the company went public, and then he sold all his shares."

"Did you get anything interesting on him?" Sara inquired.

"We only did a brief background check. Divorced, one daughter. That was about twenty years ago. Judging from the daughter's last name, I'd say the wife won the custody battle. Anyway, Roland went MIA a year after he sold his company."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Missing? What about the wife and daughter?"

"Uh…" Greg flipped through his notes. "The wife, Miranda Verona, is dead. Cancer. I'm not sure about the daughter, Vivienne."

Quiet and still throughout the meeting, Catherine finally raised her head. "Vivienne Verona?"

Everyone looked over at her quickly, surprised by the sudden sign of life. Greg checked the name again before nodding slowly. Catherine blinked several times, her mind working over this detail. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Gil, I need to talk to Sam."

Grissom, taken aback by this request, looked at her as though he were seeing her from under a microscope. "Catherine, you yourself said that you didn't want to handle that part of the –"

"This isn't a question. I'm going to go speak with Sam." Without waiting for approval, she stood up from the table. "Greg, find out everything you can about Vivienne and her father. I think I have an idea of what's going on."

As she reached for the door, Grissom shouted out to her. "Catherine?!" She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "Do you mind sharing your theory?"

"Not yet. I have to check something first."

* * *

Brass was sitting at his desk, the night's events wearing on him. The sheriff was holding a press conference in about an hour. The media was a having a field day with this story. Luckily, Warrick wasn't anywhere the reporters could find him. And the poor man didn't have to appear at the conference. The honor of talking to the vultures was Brass's own.

Tapping on his door made Brass look up. He smiled at the blonde in his doorway.

"Am I bothering you?" asked Sofia.

"Not at all. In fact, you might be able to calm me down some." Brass gestured to a chair, which Sofia took.

"Yeah, I hear the sheriff is holding a press conference."

"Lucky me. I don't suppose I could bribe you into taking my place?" The captain asked hopefully.

Sofia smiled. "Not on your life. Besides, taking a bribe right now might appear a little… shifty."

Although meant as a joke, the smile on Brass's face faded. "Sofia, I have to ask. Have you been making any kinds of deals with the undersheriff?"

"Deals?" Sofia asked with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I know how McKeen works. He likes to play favorites and his favorites are those who can offer him something. Did you offer him something?"

"Jim, with all due respect, I find this very offensive. I've already talked about this with Vartann. Apparently everyone thinks I'm involved with what's happened. Now you do as well."

"Hang on. I never said anything like that. I stand by what I told you before. You're a good cop. No, you're a _great_ cop. I'd trust you with my life." Brass leaned back in his chair. "I just wanted to give you a warning. Don't get in too deep with McKeen. If you thought Ecklie was good with politics, then you haven't seen the undersheriff. He'll stab you in the back the moment he's done with you."

Sofia thought over what was being said. She had been aware of this - suspected it. But hearing it from one of the few men she respected made her finally see it.

"I never made any agreements with McKeen. He came to me. He offered to give me favors if I return them. I'm assuming that's why he gave me the Queen murder. He probably wants a favor in return."

Brass nodded his head. "Yeah, that sounds like him. It actually doesn't surprise me. Have I ever told you about the weekend he invited me and a bunch of other guys up to his cabin at Lake Mead?" Sofia shook her head. "Well, it wasn't long after I came here. McKeen was having a weekend trip –"

He was interrupted by his phone ringing. After saying a few words, Brass hung up and looked at Sofia with sad eyes. "That was the sheriff. It's time for my curtain call."

Sofia smiled. "Break a leg, champ."

"Yeah, well, you get the next one."

Watching Brass excuse himself from his own office, Sofia felt a sense of calm wash over her. The captain had that effect on her. Only one other person could do that. She smiled as her thoughts shifted over to Vartann. For once, things were looking up.

* * *

Mandy was busy. Very busy. Busy tapping her nails on her desk. She was also very bored. Although she had been given the prints from Tina Brown's crime scene, she was still running the analysis. Sometimes she forgot how long it took to run fingerprints. At times, it seemed to only take seconds. It didn't help that she was anxious to get the results. Even though she had never met Tina, she figured she knew what Warrick was going through. And she wanted to find out who was responsible for his pain.

There were other things bothering her as well. She had yet to find out what had transpired between Greg and Wendy. Everything appeared to have smoothed over because both had huge smiles on their faces and had reverted back to their usual selves. That Wendy hadn't told her yet was infuriating!

She knew that she enjoyed gossip. Yet she wasn't the queen of the water cooler. That honor rested with Judy Tremont. And maybe Hodges. But Hodges usually made up his own gossip. It was hard to find someone to gossip with as well. Jacqui was good at it, but Mandy hardly got to see her since she moved to days. Archie didn't care about gossip, nor did Bobby. Henry only dabbled in it. Like hell was she going to gossip with Hodges. Thank God for Wendy. She really did enjoy sharing all the latest news with her.

But now she felt left out and had nothing to spread. Of course, who would want to, given what's happened? Mandy figured, however, that something _pleasant_ should go around. Give everyone something to take their minds off of the tragedy that occurred. What she really wanted to know was what Nick was up to, but Greg and Wendy would have to suffice.

When her computer indicated that the analysis was done, Mandy jumped. Finally, she could see who the bastard was that killed poor…

She stared at the screen. Her eyes blinked rapidly in an attempt to make sure that they weren't playing tricks on her. They weren't. With a shaking hand, she grabbed her pager and sent a message to Nick. He'd have to see this.

Several minutes passed until Nick walked into her lab. "Hey, Mandy. Have you got my results?"

She nodded and pointed at her screen.

Nick frowned at her unusually quiet demeanor and stepped over to view the screen. When he did, his mouth dropped. Staring back at him with blue eyes was a photo of an officer in the Las Vegas Police Department.

Detective Sofia Curtis.

* * *

A/N: Who would have suspected poor, innocent, sexy Sofia?

As for Vivienne Verona, I'm not just dropping a new, out-of-the-blue plot twist. In fact, Miss Verona is canon. Oh, but from which episode?

I think I'm over my writer's bloc, so I should be able to crank out the last few chapters. Here's hoping! :)

(And CSI season premier this week! YAY!!!!)


	27. Pieces of Silver

Chapter 27: Pieces of Silver

Using the palms of his hands, Brass attempted to smooth out his suit. From his position in the hall, he could see all the reporters and news crew packed into the little room. They were waiting patiently for the spokesman from the Police Department. _Him_.

Taking a deep breath and straightening his tie, Brass prepared for his time in the spotlight.

His only problem was figuring out what to actually tell those bloodsucking bastards of the press. Brass didn't want to release the victim's name, or let alone Warrick's. Reporters scrounging for an interview was the last thing the poor man needed. Why the sheriff wanted to feed them information was beyond Brass. He would just have to try and give them as little as possible and make it sound big.

With a sigh, Brass reached for the door. The sudden vibrations of the phone in his pocket made him stop. Grateful for a moment's delay, he pulled out the phone. The screen identified the caller as Nick Stokes. Brass answered.

As the call went on, any observer who passed could tell it wasn't good. Brass's facial expression shifted from the initial anxiety over the press conference to annoyance. A few seconds passed until annoyance changed to shock, bewilderment and disbelief before finally settling on anger. After a few brief words, he hung up the phone.

Looking into the room of parasites, Brass scowled. Without hesitation, he pulled open the door and stuck his head in.

"This conference is canceled. Go home."

Having said all he felt he needed to say, Brass turned around and left. He ignored the voices shouting after him. He heard the door open behind him as several people followed after him - one being the sheriff.

"Jim?!" Sheriff Atwater called out after the detective.

"Not now, Rory!" Brass didn't stop moving or break his step. "Something's come up. Leave it at that."

Noting the lack of following footsteps, Brass was satisfied. He really didn't want an audience for this. No, he'd handle it alone.

Walking further down the hall, he passed Cavaliere.

"Have you seen Detective Curtis?" Brass asked quickly.

Cavaliere shrugged. "Last I saw she was in Vartann's office. I don't know why…"

Brass ignored him. He quickened his pace and his thoughts. How could it have been Sofia? It didn't make any sense. Of course, nothing was making sense anymore. One thing he refused to believe was that Sofia was a murderer. He knew she was going through a tough time at the moment, but she knew better than to get involved with something illegal. He needed to talk to her before anything came of this. He needed to find out her story.

He finally arrived at Vartann's office. The door was open. Vartann was at his desk, leaning back in his chair with a smile on his face. Sofia was in the chair opposite him, chuckling at something that had just been said. Brass knocked on the door as he walked in. Both occupants looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Jim," Sofia greeted. "Done feeding the vultures already?"

"No, the press conference has been canceled."

"Canceled? Something happen?" asked Vartann.

Brass considered him for a moment. Vartann had always been close to Sofia. Should he be here for this? Weighing all the options, Brass felt that having a third party present would be best.

"Yeah, we got a hit on the fingerprints taken from the Brown scene."

Vartann sat up straight. "You did? Is it someone in the department?"

With a heavy sigh, Brass turned toward the blond. "The prints belong to Sofia."

Both detectives stilled. Vartann's eyes slowly moved away from Brass and settled on the woman across from him. Sofia's mouth parted slightly in surprise.

"I… what?" she asked incredulously.

"The prints recovered are a match to your own," Brass clarified.

"That can't be right," Vartann said sternly. "Have the lab check them again!"

"They ran 'em four times." Brass didn't look at Vartann, though. His eyes were locked with Sofia's. Confusion and panic filled hers. "I'm hoping you can explain this."

"I… I've…" She trailed off. Sofia took several deep breaths before attempting to continue. "I've only been to Warrick's house once. They had a house warming party a few months ago." She still held Brass's gaze. "You can't think I did this?"

"I don't know what to think," Brass said softly. "I was hoping you could provide me with an alibi or something. Where were you last night?"

"I was here."

"Can anyone verify this?"

'"I can!" Vartann practically shouted. "She was with me for most of the night." Realizing what this sounded like, Vartann flushed but didn't backtrack. "There was no opportunity for her to leave this building."

Brass cast several suspicious glances between the two before settling back on Sofia. "So you were here _all _night?"

Sofia nodded. "Yes. I wanted to talk to McKeen, but he had left. Something about his wife. Then Vartann and I worked on details of the case and caught up on paperwork."

Brass eyed her throughout her statement. She had stumbled a little over the part about her and Vartann but that was all. He wanted to believe her.

"The wife," Vartann said quietly.

Both Brass and Sofia stared at him, confused.

Vartann blinked at Sofia. "McKeen said he had to go take care of _the _wife. I assumed he meant his wife."

Silence filled the room as the three detectives processed what was being implied. Seconds turned to minutes until the silence was broken.

Sofia raised an eyebrow. "You couldn't possibly think that the undersheriff…?"

Vartann only shrugged. Brass was quiet. After several more moments of contemplative silence, the captain spoke.

"I never finished telling you about my trip to McKeen's cabin by the lake." He was speaking to Sofia. "The place is… well, _big_. At least two stories and filled with the finest furniture money can buy. Money beyond someone on a government payroll. I didn't think much of it then, but it did occur to me that this was the type of digs some of the cops back in Jersey would have taken to. The cops who weren't necessarily squeaky clean."

Sofia was rapidly trying to absorb everything. As her mind became a discombobulated mess, one thought broke through. _"I do you a favor, you do me a favor."_ He tossed her the Queen murder. Now…

"McKeen planted my fingerprints," she said softly but with resolution. "That's the favor he wanted - for me to take the fall."

Before Sofia could really compute what she had said, Vartann was out of his chair. He pushed his way past Brass and out of the office. The captain took off after him, Sofia on his heels. Vartann maneuvered his way through the halls and around officers until he got to his destination, the undersheriff's office. Without knocking, he opened the door and went in.

The office was empty. Brass and Sofia entered and looked around. All three stood in silence. Slowly, Sofia inched over to the desk while Brass pulled out his cell phone. He knew how he could find the undersheriff. He dialed the number quickly and waited.

"_Yes?"_

"Hey, Jeff. It's Brass. We think we've got a hit on a fingerprint from the Brown scene."

"… _Really? Whose?"_

Brass waited a moment. "I think it would be best if you came down here. I don't want this getting out just yet."

"_Why? Whose prints did you find?" _The undersheriff's voice sounded stressed.

"Sofia Curtis's," Brass replied, his eyes meeting Sofia's.

"… _oh. Have you arrested her yet?"_

With his eyes still on Sofia's Brass licked his lips and answered. "No, we haven't been able to locate her."

"_... Haven't been able to locate her? Hm. And you need me there, why?"_

Brass frowned. "I figured it would be prudent if the undersheriff were present for this. Especially considering the implications this has."

"_Yeah. I'll be right in."_

The phone connection died before Brass could say another word. The captain stared at his phone and deepened his frown. "The bastard knows we're on to him. We need to find him now!"

Brass turned to leave the room, Vartann following behind him. Sofia was just about to leave as well when she noticed something on his desk.

"Hey, guys! I think I found something," She shouted at the two men.

They stopped, and looked in the direction her eyes were pointed.

Among the papers on the undersheriff's desk, there was one small card. A business card.

* * *

McKeen closed his phone and stared at it. He stood just outside his car at a gas station. Brass knew. Or at least he suspected. He thought he had more time. Apparently, he had underestimated the captain.

Tina's murder had been a tactical risk. The undersheriff needed to slow up the investigation into both Roland and himself. He knew the death of an officer's wife would be a perfect distraction. He could have killed Warrick instead, but that would have been far too risky. Maybe if Pritchard were alive, he could have pinned it on him. Unfortunately, the dumb bastard had to get himself killed.

Sofia was perfect. At least she would have been. Had he more time, he could have planted further evidence to implicate her. McKeen knew they were dangerously close to discovering him. He had to act sooner than he wanted. If only Queen hadn't squealed. Everything would have turned out fine and no one would ever be the wiser. Oh, the best laid plans…

McKeen quickly dialed a number into his cell phone. Hopefully, he could still fix things.

"_What?"_ an impatient voice answered.

"Roland, we've got a problem."

"_What kind of problem?"_

"They're on to me." His statement was met with a moment of silence. McKeen frowned. "Roland?"

"_I'm not seeing the 'we' part. Sounds like this is your problem."_

Anger rose up within McKeen. "_My _problem!? What do you think is going to happen if I get caught? You think I'm going to take the fall for you?"

The voice on the other end laughed. _"You're such an idiot, Jeffrey. You think I care about you or any of the other simpletons I have at my disposal? You think I didn't plan for this? I know you. You're not the type to just surrender yourself to the authorities. No. You'll run. And they'll hunt you. You'll be their number one priority. I always knew you'd be the most useful. And now you're _finally_ proving it."_

"You god-damn son of a bitch!" McKeen snarled into the phone. "I'll have your head for this! I swear I'll find you and rip out your heart, hold it in front of you, and squeeze it until your blood covers every inch of your _motherfucking face_!"

More laughter bellowed from the phone. _"Goodbye, Jeffrey . God speed."_

A click signaled the end of the call. McKeen glared at his phone and then threw it down on the ground. He ignored the looks he was getting from the other customers. After a few moments, McKeen recognized his situation and quickly got back in his car.

He had to go. _Now_. He knew his destination. One quick stop along the way and then he would be off. Not without a little revenge, though. Roland would be gone, but McKeen doubted the others would be. No, Roland would leave them to rot, just as he had left _him_. A little revenge would be good.

* * *

Nick didn't know what to do.

He had been sitting in the Print Lab for what seemed like forever. The idea that Mandy might be annoyed with him commandeering her workstation never crossed his mind. The tech herself was sitting to the side, apparently content to let Nick stay there.

He had continually run the prints through the machine. Every time, they came back to Sofia. Nick knew in his gut that that wasn't right. There was no possible way that Sofia could have done it. He had worked with her so many times. Warrick too. Hell, she had appeared at the Brown's house warming party. She got along well with Tina. There was no way she could kill her. But he was running out of alternatives.

Nick didn't know what to do.

"Hey guys!" a voice shouted from down the hall.

Nick looked up and saw Greg waving his hands and jumping up and down in an effort to get attention. Movement from the opposite end of the hall made Nick turn. Sara had seen Greg as well and was moving with great haste to see what the young man wanted. His mind snapping to attention, Nick leaped out of his chair in pursuit.

"What's up, Greg?" Sara asked as she reached him.

"I found out how Roland Desmond ties in with Sam Braun." Without waiting for any questions, Greg turned into the computer lab and showed them the files he had pulled up. "It's Vivienne Verona."

Nick and Sara looked at the picture of the young woman. She was quite attractive with long dark hair and a golden tan.

"She looks familiar." Nick stated.

Greg nodded his head enthusiastically. "She should. Remember when the Monument Bank was robbed a few years back?"

Nick frowned. "Yeah. That was when Cyrus Lockwood was killed."

"You remember why the bank was robbed?"

It took a second but Sara responded. "The suspects were after something in a safety deposit box. Something that had to do with Sam Braun. But we caught the guy who killed Detective Lockwood. The rest of the case was thrown out because Catherine tampered with the DNA evidence."

Greg blushed. "Yeah, I kind of had a hand in that. Anyway, apparently the box had a pair of ceremonial scissors in it. The ones that opened the Rampart. They were supposedly used to kill a cocktail waitress."

Nick nodded and Sara blinked. They waited for Greg to continue but the younger man only stared at them expectantly. He apparently thought he had given them enough to put the puzzle together.

Sara grew impatient. "And…?"

Greg sighed. "The waitress was Vivienne Verona."

Again, Sara spoke up. "But we never found the scissors. We had nothing to show that Braun had anything to do with it."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't prove he _didn't_ do it. I'm thinking all this is a revenge plot against Braun. Desmond is getting back at Braun for the death of his daughter."

"Catherine," Nick said. "She's heading out to meet Braun now. She's alone."

"You don't think anything is going to happen tonight, do you?" Sara asked.

Nick shook his head. "We don't know, but Sam is at the Rampart now. That's the only Braun casino not to be hit. We need to at least get some uniforms over there."

Footsteps entering the lab broke their conversation. Grissom and Ecklie walked in.

"I've just spoken with Brass," Grissom explained. "He's not arresting Sofia."

Nick nodded. "Great! But Gris, we have a problem."

"I know. Brass said they found another one of those business cards in McKeen's office. They're attempting to locate the undersheriff now."

"McKeen?" Nick blinked rapidly. "You mean he's the mole?"

Ecklie responded to the question. "We're not sure yet, but we have a strong suspicion. We don't have any clear evidence other than the card – which could be circumstantial – but the fact that we can't find him suggests that he's on the run."

"Shit," Nick whispered. The undersheriff. He didn't see that one coming.

"So, I want everyone on alert," Grissom continued. "McKeen may try to destroy evidence and we'll have to be ready. Someone contact Catherine and have her get back here."

"Gris!" Greg exclaimed. He quickly relayed his information to the men.

Grissom ran a hand over his mouth and chin. "Brass has every available cop out looking for McKeen. I'm not sure if he can spare anyone. The chances of anything happening are slim." He looked at his CSIs. Their faces were defiant. Grissom sighed. "Alright, fine. Nick, go to the Rampart. Make sure that both Catherine and Braun are safe. The rest of you will wait here with me."

Satisfied, the three CSIs nodded their heads. Nick quickly walked out of the lab. He didn't know why, but he knew he had to get to the Rampart fast.

* * *

Catherine parked her car and started toward the front entrance of the grandiose casino. It seemed as though she had been taking these same steps a lot lately. Indeed, it seemed like she had seen more of Sam these past two weeks than her mother or daughter.

She felt as though she had been making headway. The night she went over to his house and laid out her thoughts and feelings, it was like she caught a fresh breath. Sam had been happy to oblige. They talked for hours about everything. Sam discussed his sons, his feelings toward Lily, and his happiest memories of the business. She returned with anecdotes of Lindsey, humorous highlights of her old dancing days, and outrageous moments from the lab. Overall, it had been a good night.

Real life had a way of ruining things though. Catherine figured that if she distanced herself from the case and any future cases involving Braun, she'd be able establish a real relationship with the man. Now, she was beginning to think that that would be impossible.

She couldn't help but mentally kick herself. She knew there were demons in his past, just as there were in hers. The difference was that while her demons were dead and buried, his lingered.

There was one that she should have named. One that she should have solved. _The _one. The case from three years ago. Vivienne Verona and the domino effect she had created. Yes, the girl had been killed sometime before, but it was that case that brought everything to light. It revealed everything about Sam and what he was capable of, including fathering her.

Catherine shook her head. It was that kind of thinking that had caused this in the first place. That was something that had been eating away at her since Greg first dropped the name of Roland Desmond's daughter. All the pieces fell into place. And she couldn't help but think that it was a puzzle that she helped design.

Her DNA matched against Braun's. A single selfish act. A case thrown out the window. A guilty man walking free. A vengeful father seeking retribution. Corruption in the police force. Hundreds dead in the crossfire. Hundreds of thousands of taxpayers' dollars tied up in the rebuilding costs. Warrick's family destroyed.

How could she not feel guilty for all that had transpired? What would Grissom call it? Causality? A butterfly effect? Had she exercised willpower and simply not ask Greg to run the DNA, Braun would be in jail. His empire would no longer have been his. Desmond might have been appeased. And Tina would be alive.

An image of Warrick entered her mind. Sitting in the chair, grief-stricken, covered in his wife's blood. Sara had said that when they had first arrived, he was clutching Tina's body. Tears were streaming down his face.

Every time Catherine closed her eyes, his eyes haunted her. The vibrant green, full of fury and hate. They were directed at her. Of course, no one had yet figured her role in the events. Perhaps they never would. But the thought of Warrick blaming her… it scared her more than anything.

Catherine knew it was too late. She knew the damage had been done. But she would at least rectify one thing. She was going to finish this Braun business once and for all. Only then would she atone. Only then would she seek forgiveness.

* * *

A/N: The case involving Vivienne Verona, Sam Braun, Cyrus Lockwood, etc. is from the Season 3 finale _Inside The Box_. Season Four opened with the case being thrown out because Catherine used DNA evidence of Braun and matched it with her own, discovering he was her father. Roland Desmond is a character of my own design.

Only three chapters left. One's with my beta, one's half way done, and one's aching to be written. I can't believe the end is near...

Thanks to my beta, Happyharper13, and the wonderful job she does.

And please review :)


	28. Decline and Fall

Chapter 28: Decline and Fall

The road was clear. No traffic. Not a single car. It was miles outside of Las Vegas so this was natural. There wasn't even any wildlife to be seen. The night was still.

McKeen found it very unnerving.

While his eyes focused on the road, his mind was elsewhere. It raced frantically over the events of the past day. Questions without answers kept popping up. Why didn't he just kill CSI Brown? Why didn't he attempt to make the scene look more like a home invasion gone wrong? Why didn't he just get rid of Roland? Yet there was one question that overshadowed all the others.

What the hell happened?

His entire world seemed to be falling apart around him. Twenty-four hours ago, he was one of the most powerful people in that fucking hell hole. The sheriff depended on his advice. Hell, _he_ could have been sheriff.

Now, he was on the run from the sheriff's idiot minions.

Okay, perhaps they weren't all idiots. He was able to string along Curtis fairly well. Given more time, everything would have worked perfectly. But he wouldn't have been able to play her as he had Pritchard. That was part of the problem. He had moved too slowly - too cautiously - in order to avoid raising her suspicions.

Vartann was too smart for his own good. Or he just didn't know how to leave things well enough alone.

And then there was Brass. The man had been a thorn in the undersheriff's side for years. Any signs of corruption, a single whiff of vice, and Brass would have turned the department inside out. It was amazing that there were as many corrupt cops as there were.

And McKeen had his own suspicions that not all were linked to him. Pritchard's and Queen's deaths had all but confirmed that Braun had someone paid off. And McKeen had an idea as to whom.

But that was a matter to be dealt with later. He still had more important things to take care of. The first was securing his assets. As such, he had made a quick stop home twenty minutes earlier…

* * *

McKeen pulled into the driveway of his large house in North Las Vegas. Keeping the engine idling, he quickly ran into the house. He didn't have much time. Brass was on to him and he had to move fast.

"Diane!" he shouted as he slammed the front door. "Diane! Where the hell are you!?"

"In here!" a voice shouted from the parlor. Moments later, a tall, thin woman with a pointed face and long black hair emerged. "What is it, Jeffrey?"

"You need to get out of here!" McKeen barked. "Grab some shit and get the hell out! I don't care where."

The woman's eyes narrowed at her husband. "What did you do?"

McKeen ignored her as he ran to the adjoining office and grabbed a few papers out of a drawer. Diane stood at the doorway.

"You fucked up, didn't you?" A glare from her husband did nothing to make Diane stop. "You had something to do with all this casino shit." It wasn't a question. She knew.

She had always known that the man she married wasn't a knight in shining armor. Far from it, in fact. That didn't bother her. She wasn't a damsel in distress needing rescue. She had been quite content looking the other way for their many years together. Whatever it was he did, he at least provided a comfortable life for the two of them.

But deep down, Diane knew that trouble would eventually come their way. She didn't know when or how. She just knew.

And she was prepared.

McKeen brushed past her to grab a few other items from the living room. He turned to look over his shoulder at her. "Stop asking questions, Diane. Just do what I say!"

Diane moved over to where she kept her purse. "I knew this would happen. You just couldn't lay low, could you? Who is it? Cops or crooks?"

"Cops," McKeen muttered.

"Great. Now you're running from the law. Perfect. And what would you like me to do?"

"Get out of town. This'll probably be their first stop. I'm not sure how much about you they'll believe."

Diane frowned. "Meaning?"

"They'll think you're an accessory."

"To what?"

McKeen looked at his wife. For the many years of their marriage, he never told her the truth. Yet, at the same time, he never lied. Not outright anyway. Only lies of omission. Why be mendacious now?

"Murder," he replied nonchalantly.

Diane's breath caught in her throat. For several seconds she couldn't respond. Of the things she felt her husband was guilty of, this was one of the few she didn't consider. Well, maybe a little. But never seriously. Never until now.

She silently grabbed her purse and started for the door. She could fell her husband's eyes on her.

"Is that all you're taking?"

With her hand on the doorknob, she sighed. "I've been prepared for this day, Jeffrey. I've got money in a private account. One not connected to you. I'm sure yours will be frozen if it hasn't been already. I guess you could say I've already planned out my escape."

She turned toward her husband. She was slightly surprised to see a smile on his face.

"Good girl," he said.

Diane surprised herself by returning the smile. "What are you going to do?"

"I've got some matters to attend to. It's probably best I don't tell you what they are."

"I agree. Goodbye, Jeffrey." Diane opened the front door. The night was still quiet. No sign of the police.

"Diane," McKeen called after her. She looked back at him. "I'll see you later."

Her smile this time was forced. She didn't believe he would see her again. Something inside told her this.

With a nod of her head, she closed the door and left McKeen behind.

* * *

… Now, with his wife safely on her way, he could take care of the more pressing matters.

He stopped his car next to the two vans in the drive way. As he stepped out of the vehicle, he turned to look at the lake. The dark water glistened with the reflection of the cabin. Its tranquil nature undermined McKeen's plan.

With determined steps, McKeen walked up the path to the cabin's front door. It opened before he could even grab the knob.

"Oh. It's you," Emerson grunted. Behind him, Krieger stood with a gun in his hands. Both looked tense.

McKeen scowled. "Is there a problem?"

Another grunt came as the reply. McKeen walked past the brute and looked around for everyone else. Elliot and Corben were in the kitchen, talking quietly to one another. Footsteps on the upstairs landing told him that either Jones or Desmond was up there. Frankly, he didn't care which.

As he moved toward the stairs, the footsteps began to descend. McKeen halted. A few moments later, Waylon Jones appeared.

"McKeen? What are you doing here? Figured you'd be off covering Roland."

"Roland's not here?" McKeen felt disappointed.

Jones sneered. "You don't know? Figures. The boss said he was ready to checkmate the king. I guess he's making his move against Braun. He'll probably be calling for us anytime now."

Or not, thought McKeen. In all likelihood, Roland knew McKeen would come here. Probably counted on it. Roland more than likely hoped one of his men would kill McKeen. But why wouldn't he tell them to do so first? Unless he wanted them to –

"What the hell is that?" Emerson shouted.

Outside, in the distance, was the sound a police siren. They were coming.

"You bastard!" Krieger growled, his accent thick. "You led them right to us!"

Before he could move, McKeen had a gun in his face. His mind began working fast in an effort to take control of the situation.

"That's why I'm here," McKeen started. "Someone tipped them off to your location."

"_Your_ cabin," Jones challenged. "Who better to tip off the cops than a cop?"

McKeen glared at the man. "How about Roland? He's not here right now, is he? Convenient."

Jones didn't respond. His eyes stayed focused on McKeen. They were filled with hatred. McKeen responded in kind.

"Roland wouldn't have done that, would he?" Corben asked, his voice overcome with fear.

No one answered. McKeen smiled inwardly for his triumph. These guys really were fools.

With the sirens growing nearer, Krieger lowered his gun. Both he and Emerson looked over at Jones. They were waiting to see what their leader wanted to do.

"Neal, Al, guard the front of the house. Any cop who tries to get close, kill 'em. You two," Jones looked at Corben and Elliot, "can just stay put. If we go down, then we all go down. If I see you cowards try to run for it, I'll blow your fucking brains out."

Jones turned to face McKeen. Like hell was the undersheriff going to take orders from this asshole. Without a word, McKeen turned away and started up the stairs. He didn't care what Jones tried to plan, only if they supplied a sufficient distraction.

Once he was upstairs and in the office, McKeen quickly sat at the computer desk. He needed to find out what Roland was up to. As he navigated his way through the computer files, his eyes grew dark.

It was all planted. Money exchanges, false emails, casino schematics, all in McKeen's name. He was set up to take the fall.

Anger overwhelmed McKeen. He had been played. Probably from the beginning. These files – some of which were weeks old – testified to this. He should have known. He knew Roland was a snake, and yet McKeen had still let himself get bit.

"THIS IS LVPD! PLEASE STEP OUT OF THE HOUSE WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

McKeen smiled at the voice of Jim Brass. The old warhorse would certainly have his hands full. Hopefully, Jones and Brass would take each other out. However, that would rob McKeen of the one thing he had wanted to do since he got to the cabin.

Quickly, McKeen set the computer to reformat the hard drive. That should erase all the files Roland left behind. Standing behind the desk, he drew out his gun and exited the room.

When he entered the hall, he heard shouting coming from downstairs. Some sort of argument was going on. He took a few steps toward the landing when two shots rang out. Outside, he could hear the shouts of the uniforms. Several weapons discharged. Then someone opened fire from inside the house.

It had begun.

More guns fired as McKeen descended the stairs. He could see Emerson and Krieger on the front porch, hiding behind overturned furniture and wooded posts, shooting at the cops. The uniforms were only too happy to send in their own rain of bullets.

As he turned the corner and entered the kitchen, he stopped. Corben and Elliot were on the ground. Dead. Their blood pooled around them. Jones was in the dining room, eyeing the back door with his gun drawn.

"What happened?" McKeen asked.

Jones didn't even look at him. "I told those two if they tried to run, I'd kill 'em. They should've believed me." It was then that he looked at the undersheriff. "You thinkin' of running too?"

McKeen smiled. "Nope. Not with the enemy still alive."

Jones blinked. "About time you grew a pair. Those pigs will probably try to come around back. Figured I'd give them a little surprise."

Someone yelled out in pain. McKeen could hear Emerson shouting at the cops, calling them filthy names. It appeared Krieger was down.

Jones scowled. "Shit. Okay, here's the plan. I want you to go back to the –"

His voice died with the gunshot. Jones slumped to the floor, the hole in his head gushing out blood. McKeen lowered his gun. "Enough of you orders," he said simply.

Just then, the back door busted open and three uniforms rushed into the room. Their weapons were all drawn and were all pointed at McKeen. With a deep breath, the undersheriff dropped his gun.

Another yell echoed from out front. Moments later, the gunfire ceased. Emerson must have fallen. It was over.

One of the cops stepped forward and kicked the gun away from McKeen. He then forced the undersheriff's hands behind his back and his body down to the ground. The cop used a little more force than was necessary.

Soon the cabin was flooded with people as police cleared it. Outside, a Denali pulled in behind the cops. Grissom, Sidle and Sanders filed in and started their respective jobs.

Back in the kitchen, McKeen found himself being hoisted off the ground, a cop on each side. In front of him stood Brass.

"Hello, Jeff," Brass said coldly.

"Jim," McKeen replied.

They stood for several minutes, staring at each other. Two sets of eyes boring into skulls. Finally, Brass spoke.

"Why?"

McKeen sneered. "Why what?"

Brass growled. "Why everything? Braun? Framing Sofia? Why murder Tina Brown?"

McKeen only shrugged. Brass's lip curled as he took a step closer. Before the captain could do anything, Grissom entered the kitchen.

"Looks like someone tried to reformat the computer upstairs."

Without taking his eyes off of McKeen, Brass responded to Grissom. "Did we lose everything?"

Grissom shook his head. "Greg was able to cancel the process. We don't how much was lost though. We'll have to get it back to the lab. Archie should be able to recover enough."

Brass returned McKeen's sneer. "Well, Jeff. You wanted me to keep you informed. Looks like you're going to be going away for a while. A long while. And this time, I was able to gift wrap."

He nodded at the officers, who led McKeen away in handcuffs.

* * *

A/N: I don't have anything to really add to this chapter. I would love to know what you thought of it though. Review? Pretty please?


	29. Sic Semper Tyrannis

Chapter 29: Sic Semper Tyrannis

The night had been remarkably quiet at the Rampart, enough so that that it allowed Sam Braun to enjoy a nice, leisurely supper.

While others ate fattening, pre-processed food, Sam dined on only the best. A three course meal – each course accompanied by its own vintage of wine – was prepared by his personal chef. A rich selection of the finest fruits and vegetables, bread and cheese provided a nice balance to the prime cut of meat he was served. It was here that Sam was king, and he enjoyed being treated like one.

After he had finished, Sam sat on the comfortable, dark leather couch. With a glass of port in his hand he casually glanced at the various security monitors on the wall. He knew what was happening with the case, and everything appeared to be going well. The news that the undersheriff had a hand in the incident had already reached his ears, courtesy of his contact, of course.

He was sure that some, if not all, of McKeen's gang would go down in a firefight. He doubted that the undersheriff himself would sacrifice his own life. No, that would be something that Braun would take care of later.

Now he just wanted to relax. Life had been very stressful for him lately. It was rough managing his empire, especially when it was under attack. He wasn't worried though. He knew he would get out of it all just fine.

But these attacks were taking up all of his time. Handling the police, the insurance companies, the banks, and his own agenda was very taxing. He was looking forward to the whole ordeal coming to an end. It had been awhile since he had a chance to take Lily out. She always enjoyed dancing. A simple, slow waltz, with Sam looking into her eyes like she was the only woman on Earth, always made her swoon.

He was planning to have a private suite in the Eclipse. One just for Lily. The idea of having her close, having so intimate a companion available whenever he needed her, was comforting. It was a different intimacy than one fashioned merely by sexual trysts – rather, it was an emotional one; one forged by years of understanding. Simply put, Lily, the mother of his daughter, understood him. Though he hated to admit it, Sam knew he was getting older. His taste in young beauties seemed to be dying along with his body. Perhaps a monogamous relationship could be a good thing?

The only hindrance was his daughter. Catherine had unfortunately inherited both her parents' stubbornness. Sam could only pray that his companion and his daughter could reach some sort of understanding. He wanted his last good years to be spent with his family.

Sam's eyes drifted to the laptop sitting idly on the coffee table. His informant within the police department had been able to send as much information as possible on Nick Stokes. The message that accompanied it made Sam smile.

His inside man was worried about what Sam wanted the info for. He was worried about Nick.

Again, Sam smiled. This was the difference between McKeen and himself. Sam liked working with people who, although working for money, didn't sell their souls. Sam's man still felt compassion - which made him all the more valuable in Sam's eyes. He had made a few exceptions in the past, but ultimately he preferred working with human beings and not monsters.

He had replied to the informant with a message reaffirming the fact that Sam harbored no ill will toward Mr. Stokes. It was all simple curiosity. And Sam was certainly intrigued, and a little touched, by what he had found out about Nick and his recent endeavors.

Unfortunately, Braun's quiet evening was not to last. Loud knocking on his office door made Sam groan in annoyance. He was about to tell the person off, when the door flew open and his daughter marched into the room.

Sam, unsure whether to stand or stay seated, remained on the couch. "Catherine? What…?"

Before he could finish his sentence, she cut him off.

"You son of a bitch," Catherine muttered quietly but forcefully. She didn't wait for Sam to respond before she continued. "This is all _your_ fault. All of it. Tina, those people, all of it!"

Sam rose from his seat. "Excuse me?"

"Vivienne Verona!" Catherine shouted at him.

Sam's face darkened at the name. That was someone who he had hoped to forget about. She had brought him too much trouble. Far too much.

"What are you talking about?" he asked Catherine.

"Everything that's been going on with this case, Sam. The attacks on your casinos, the corrupt cops, the death of Tina Brown - which I _know_ you know about. It all goes back to Vivienne Verona."

"You're not making sense, Catherine. How does this have anything to do with her?"

"Her father, Roland Desmond, is the man behind all of it."

Sam stared at his daughter as he processed this new information. He knew from the beginning that this was personal. He was aware that he had enemies. There were many people who he had lied to or cheated on. Many of whom would have leaped at the opportunity to strike back at him. A vengeful father, however, was a scenario he hadn't considered.

He looked into Catherine's eyes. In them, he saw anger, doubt, and sadness. Sam knew what she was thinking.

"Muggs, you have to believe me. I never killed that girl."

Catherine closed her eyes but her voice still retained her fury. "Whether that's true or not doesn't matter right now! Roland Desmond believes you had something to do with his daughter's death and he's crazy enough to kill anyone who gets in his way. He's proven that by slaughtering over a hundred innocent people. Congratulations, Sam. You created a terrorist with the money and ambition to act. What a nice legacy to add to the Braun name."

Sam didn't respond. His eyes drifted to the window as he looked out over the city. Catherine's words swam around his head and he tried to get a grasp on the situation. As he mulled over everything, a sudden thought cut through to him.

"Have you got him yet?"

Catherine blinked. "No, not that I know of. When I left, we had just figured out Desmond's connection to you."

Sam turned to her. "So he's still out there?"

"Hopefully for not much longer. Sam, I want you to realize what you did here. God knows how much of this is my fault. But if I'm going to burn in Hell, I'll want you right there beside me."

"Muggs-"

"And stop calling me that!" Catherine shouted. "You have no right! To think I was warming up to the idea of you and my mother, of you and Lindsey. I shouldn't even touch her with the blood on my hands. But that's nothing to the amount on yours!"

Sam opened his mouth to reply when the door flew open again. Both Sam and Catherine turned to see Nick burst into the room.

"Nick?" Catherine asked. "What are you doing here?"

"We may have a problem, Catherine. Greg figured out who Roland Desmond is."

Catherine nodded. "I already know who he is."

Nick gave her a grim smile. "I thought you might. But we got a break in the case."

"You mean besides Desmond?"

"Mandy got a hit on the prints. They came back to Sofia."

Catherine's mouth dropped open. "Sofia…?"

Nick raised his hand to stop her from going any further. "Don't worry, it's not her. They were planted by the undersheriff."

"McKeen?" Catherine asked, confounded.

Nick nodded. "Brass has the entire department out looking for him. We haven't found him yet though. The same goes for Desmond."

"So what's the plan?" inquired Catherine.

"Brass is supposed to be sending some uniforms over here for Mr. Braun. Until then, we sit tight."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I doubt he'll be able to get me here. Not in my casino."

Both Nick and Catherine eyed him incredulously. Nick spoke first. "He's already proven what lengths he's willing to go to. I wouldn't underestimate him."

"I think it's clear by now that you're not untouchable, Sam" Catherine said with a sneer.

Sam frowned at her but said nothing.

A half hour passed in relative silence. The officers Brass had supposedly sent still hadn't arrived. Catherine stood idly by the desk while Nick stared at the door while fidgeting with his watch. Sam stood by the window, eyes fixed on the city below.

The silence was broken by a gentle knock on the door. Both Nick and Catherine looked up sharply. Sam turned around slowly.

"Who is it?" he hollered.

"It's Walker," a voice shouted back.

Nick looked over at Sam, who smiled at the younger man. "One of my managers," he explained. "Come in!"

The door opened slowly as John Walker entered the room. Immediately, both Catherine and Nick knew something was wrong. Walker's eyes were wide with fear.

"Wait!" shouted Nick as he reached for his gun.

Before he could draw his weapon, Walker was shoved into the room by an unseen hand. Roland Desmond entered behind him, his own gun in hand.

All three occupants of the room stood still. Roland aimed his gun at Nick. Without a word, he fired at the CSI. The bullet hit Nick's chest and forced him backward and to the ground.

"Nick!" Catherine screamed.

"I wouldn't move," Roland said calmly. Catherine froze, her eyes glued to Nick's unmoving body.

On the ground, Walker attempted to move. With only a glance, Roland fired a bullet into the back of the man's head.

Sam scowled at the man before him. His glare was met by a calm smile.

"Mr. Braun," Roland stated nonchalantly. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

"What the hell do you want?" asked Sam, his voice filled with vindictive fury.

Roland's smile grew. "I want justice. I want you to pay for your crimes."

Sam stood up straighter. "I've done nothing that – "

"You killed my daughter!" screamed Roland. His face was no longer calm and smiling, but contorted in rage.

"I did _not _kill Vivienne. All I did was – "

"Sam, shut up!" cried Catherine.

"I'd listen to the woman. I'd rather not hear your voice. I only want to see your face. I want to see the look of despair as you see your beloved empire come crashing down around you."

"Despite all you've done, my empire is still standing," Sam retorted.

Once again, a smile formed on Roland's face. "Did Rome fall in a day? Of course not. The heaviest doors pivot on small hinges. You're empire hasn't fallen yet. But it will. How has business been at the Tangiers lately? Actually, how has business been overall since Pikes?"

If it were possible to hate someone to death, Sam would have killed Roland with just his eyes.

Roland continued, "You know I doubt that, when the Visigoths crossed the Danube, the Roman's knew their empire was finished. Or, even when their emperor died by the barbarians' hands at Adrianople, did they think that it was the beginning of the end. A tyrant never sees his rule crumble, not even when it already has."

"I've done far more than kill you, Braun. I've destroyed you. No one feels safe at your casinos. Not when someone with a gun can walk in and BAM!" Catherine jumped at Roland's words. This made the man laugh to himself. "Or when a small, simple chemical byproduct can be smuggled into a casino and ignited. Your business is dead, Braun, and that is what will kill you."

Roland looked over at Catherine. "I thought about targeting your family. I thought about robbing you of your daughter just as you robbed me of mine."

As he pointed his gun at Catherine, she swallowed. Sam's eyes widened in fear.

"But," Roland hesitated. "I realized that your family wasn't as important to you. What truly held your heart was greed. You let your own son rot in jail without as much as a plea bargain. That's far more ruthless than anything I've done. This is why I didn't go after dear Catherine here, or her mother and daughter. I wanted to show you that I'm _better_ than you."

"Better?" questioned Sam. "I would _never_ have targeted innocent people. They have a special place in Hell for what you've done."

"It'll be worth it," replied Roland.

"How would Vivienne react to what you've done?" Sam said boldly.

Roland snarled at the comment and raised his gun and pointed it at Braun's face. Sam stared defiantly down the barrel. They stood look like that for several moments until Roland started laughing.

"You think you're brave? You're a coward in Armani. You think you're untouchable. You're as arrogant as McKeen. For all of his boldness, look where he is – on the run from the law. He's probably dead by now anyway. As for you, I haven't decided yet."

He lowered the weapon a little, but it was still pointed at Sam. For several seconds, nobody moved.

"Why Tina?" Catherine asked suddenly.

Roland looked at her, her question unexpected. "The woman McKeen murdered? That was his decision. I suppose he was trying to keep everyone occupied and distracted. A stupid move made by a stupid man."

Catherine looked away from the madman. She focused on the body of Nick. A wide range of emotions flooded her. He had come there to warn them. Roland killed him only because he saw him as useless. She thought about everything the Texan had gone through – what it was he was trying to accomplish. The family he was trying to create – that would now never happen.

Anger and rage overrode everything else she was feeling. Grabbing the desk lamp next to her, she quickly pulled out the plug. "You son of a bitch!" she screamed as she threw the lamp.

It collided with Roland's head. He staggered back, holding his wound.

Catherine took the opportunity to rush forward. Grabbing Roland's head, she brought it down as her knee came up. She heard the man's nose break. She then went for his gun.

Roland, although dazed and bloodied, didn't relinquish the firearm. Instead he flung his arm around widely. The gun caught Catherine in the cheek. With a yelp, she stepped back. Blood began to pour from the cut that had been carved.

Without hesitation, Catherine flung herself at the man again. His senses returning, Roland was able to sidestep. He wasn't completely out of her way, however, and Catherine grabbed him by his suit before bringing her other fist up to meet his face.

Pain searing through his twice broken nose, Roland let out an angry yell and backhanded Catherine. She fell back, but didn't go down.

She turned - ready to go at him again - only to be face to face with the barrel of a gun.

Roland, face half covered in blood and contorted in rage, glared at her. "I was going to let you live."

Catherine held her breath as she heard the gun fire.

But she didn't feel anything.

In fact, she was still standing.

Instead, to her great surprise, she saw Roland's eyes widen.

Then he collapsed.

Looking around, Catherine gasped. On the ground, with a smoking gun, was Nick. He looked dazed and angry, never a good combination for a Texan.

"Nick!" Catherine cried out. She practically ran to Nick and knelt down beside him. "How…?"

Nick groaned. He reached up and unbuttoned his shirt. Underneath was what appeared to be Kevlar. "Never go on the job without it anymore," he croaked.

Catherine, tears in her eyes, started laughing.

Sam stood still. He felt his heart slow from the rapid rate it had held minutes earlier.

He watched the scene in front of him.

He stared at the two people on the ground.

Sam stared, and then he smiled.

* * *

A/N: Only one chapter left: the resolution/epilogue. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I have :)

Another thank you to my beta, Happyharper13. She's great being able to do this and her busy schedule as well.

Please Review ;)


	30. The Brave and The Bold

Chapter 30: The Brave and The Bold

Jim Brass tilted his head around on his shoulders, hearing it crack several times. It had been a long night, and he was looking forward to some downtime. He had just bought a new movie a few nights ago and was looking forward to relaxing with it and a glass of Scotch. It was going to be his first real chance to unwind. The past few weeks had been stressful to say the least.

McKeen's arrest was only the first step in cleaning house. The former undersheriff, in an effort to lessen his sentence, named several other corrupt officers. Brass had been shocked by how many were apparently in on the take. But they were mostly beat cops. Only two detectives were indicted. The highest ranking offender had been a lieutenant. Of course, in the shake-up, personnel had to be shifted around. All in all, it had been busy.

Brass had only one stop to make before clocking out for the day.

He paused outside the open doorway of the undersheriff's office. Knocking on the wood, Brass cleared his throat and stepped inside.

"Enjoying the new digs, Conrad?"

Ecklie looked up from behind his new desk. He gave the captain a small, polite smile. "Jim," he acknowledged. "As a matter of fact, I am."

Brass looked around the room. It was similar yet different from when McKeen occupied the room. There was still a stiff aura in the space. Anyone - well almost anyone - who walked in would probably feel intimidated. Yet it wasn't the same feeling as before.

Perhaps it was the furniture. The desk wasn't some rich, dark mahogany. The chairs weren't leather. It was the same regular desk and uncomfortable chairs you would have found in any office, Brass's included. The walls weren't lined with photos of all the important people the occupant knew. Instead, various diplomas and other official documents adorned the walls. Where a photo of a wife used to sit was now a digital clock.

The room was still stuffy, yet it held the air of a professional.

Brass bit back a comment that had formed. It wouldn't be right to antagonize the boss just yet. Instead, he decided to make small talk in an effort to feel out the man before him.

Although he used to be the head of the night shift over at the Crime Lab, he never really interacted with Ecklie, who had been his counterpart on days. Likewise, Conrad stayed away from Brass. In fact, Brass realized, Ecklie didn't start harassing night shift until after Grissom took over. Interesting.

"So," Brass started. "How does it feel to be out of the Lab?"

Ecklie blinked at the man. "It's not that different," he said simply.

"Come on," the captain prodded. "It's got to be a little different from begin a CSI."

"Was it all that different for you?" Ecklie countered.

Brass shrugged. "I was a cop before. And I was never a CSI. Just a bureaucrat."

"Well, I haven't processed a scene in years. When was the last time McKeen investigated a case?"

"I don't recall," Brass replied.

Ecklie released a small grin. "This job is nothing _but_ being a bureaucrat. Like I said, it's not that different."

That was the reason Brass never dealt with Ecklie when they were both in the Lab. Conrad was too much of a politician for Brass's taste. And perhaps Ecklie never bothered with Brass because he knew he couldn't pull any fast ones.

Brass knew how to play politics and he didn't back away from any challenges. The only thing Ecklie had over him was expertise. Brass was never a scientist. His right hand man had been Grissom though. And both Brass and Ecklie knew that between the two scientists, Grissom was smarter.

And now the lab bureaucrat was away from his turf.

Brass smirked. "How will the Lab survive without you?" he jested.

"The sheriff wanted the Lab to fall directly under my supervision. I had another idea."

"I know," the captain said with mock annoyance. "Your little coup gave me more work to do."

Ecklie raised an eyebrow. "Nothing you couldn't handle, of course."

Raising his hands up in feigned humility, Brass grinned. "What can I say? I'm good."

Ecklie suppressed a smile. "Sure you are. Now shouldn't you be going home?"

"Worried about hours, Conrad? Been at that desk for barely a week and already acting like a hot shot. But who am I to argue with the boss? I'll see you later." Brass shot Ecklie a sly smile before turning away.

"Hey, Jim," Ecklie called after him. "One more thing."

"What's that?"

"The sheriff wants to give you an award."

Brass looked at the undersheriff. "For what?"

"For what happened during the William Cutler situation."

A sudden throbbing occurred in Brass's shoulder. He fought the urge to touch the scar. Brass wasn't even sure if the pain was real.

"You're kidding me?" Brass asked incredulously.

"Not at all. The sheriff wants to show that not every police officer in this department is corrupt. What better way than to honor the captain who risked his life to save a hostage?"

"So you're using me as a PR boost?"

Ecklie frowned slightly. "Don't look at it that way. It'll be good for the department."

"Yeah, I'm sure it will." Without another word, Brass left the office.

The last thing he wanted was a reminder of a stupid decision he made. He _was _happy that he saved the hostage. But, given the way it went down, it was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done. Yeah, let them honor _that_.

As he headed for the exit, Brass saw Andy Akers, still in uniform, loitering in a corner in the front lobby. The young officer hung up the cell phone he was talking on and turned around.

Brass forced a smile. "Hey, Andy. Going home yet?"

Returning the smile, Akers shook his head. "Not just yet. I got to make a quick stop. Then I'll be going."

"Alright, but be careful. The new head honcho is watching hours. I wouldn't stay too long."

Akers nodded. "Thanks. I won't be long. See you later, captain."

Brass mock saluted the young man before continuing on his mission. It had been a long and stressful month and he was looking forward to the next several days of pure rest and relaxation.

* * *

In the weeks following the arrest of Jeff McKeen and the death of Roland Desmond, the Crime Lab worked non-stop to solve every facet of the case. Due to its high profile nature – along with the political shakeup it caused – almost every tech and CSI had a hand in the investigation.

A fairly accurate timeline had been constructed going back tothe death of Vivienne Verona. Backgrounds on the twelve men Desmond hired had been collected. DNA and dental records confirmed the identities of not just the four men killed at Pikes, but the victims as well. Bullets were matched to the weapons used by McKeen, Pritchard, Jones, Emerson and Krieger.

The knife used on Pritchard and Queen was still unaccounted for, but the investigation had been officially closed. The trial of the only surviving collaborator, former Undersheriff Jeffrey McKeen, was set to be held in three months.

The Lab could finally breathe easily and return - or as mush as was possible.

Except for one minor change in the hierarchy.

Detective Vartann walked casually passed the glass walls of the Lab. Although familiar with the place, he had been visiting more and more often the past couple weeks.

When he approached the office of the Lab Director, he knocked gently before letting himself in. With a warm smile on his face, Vartann greeted her. "Hey."

Sofia Curtis looked up and broke into a huge grin. "Hey."

Entering further into the room, Vartann leaned against Sofia's desk. "How's it coming?"

"Pretty well. Nothing to complain about at least."

"How's it feel to be back here?"

Sofia smiled. "You know what they say about riding a bike?"

Vartann's smile deepened. "Yeah."

"Not quite like that," Sofia joked. "It's great to be back in the lab, but now I have all this responsibility."

"Anyone calling you 'Ecklie' yet?"

"Ha! No, not yet. Besides, they'll soon see I operate a little differently than Conrad."

"How's that?"

Sofia grinned. "Conrad liked to micromanage. I don't. I do, however, prefer a more hands-on approach."

A playful glint flashed in Vartann's eyes. "Hands-on, eh?'

Sofia nodded slyly. "Hands-on. Unlike Conrad, I'm not afraid to engage in a little field work every now and again."

"How are your supervisor's going to handle that?"

"I'm not going to give them the choice. But I don't see any issues. I used to work with the dayshift supervisor way back when. Swing shouldn't be a problem either."

Vartann raised an eyebrow. "And Grissom?"

"I know how Grissom likes to operate. I'll give him his space as long as he gives me his reviews. I think that's a fair exchange." Another fact about Grissom crept into Sofia's head. "Oh, and as long he doesn't show too much favoritism to any of his… subordinates, than everything should be fine."

"How is everything with Grissom's team?" Vartann asked, concerned.

Sofia sighed. "As well as can be expected. Night shift gave their all with this case. Not that that's any surprise given how personal it was. I'll give them some time off. They need it. Warrick's still on leave and Nick and Catherine both put in for vacation. Once they come back, I'll give the other three some free time."

"So Grissom, Sidle and Sanders are the only ones covering the shift?"

"I've been giving them easy cases. The bulk has been divided up between the other two shifts. Night hasn't complained about manpower either. In fact, Grissom and Sara are out at a scene right now. Some washed up rock star, Izzy Delancie."

Vartann looked shocked. "Izzy Delancie? No way!"

Sofia looked at Vartann quizzically. "You know him?"

"Yeah. He had a number one hit back in the day. You never heard of him?"

"Guess I never really listened to his type of music."

Vartann leaned closer to her. "What kind of music do you like?"

Sofia smiled. "Get to know me and you'll find out."

"Oh, I intend to."

Without any further wait, Vartann closed the space between them. Placing one hand on the side of her face, he kissed Sofia passionately. Sofia gently bit his bottom lip while she curled her fingers in to his hair. Vartann moaned and gripped her upper arm.

The kiss would have lasted longer had it not been for the uncomfortable position they were in. With great hesitation, they unlatched from each other.

Vartann smiled at the blond. "Will I see you tonight?"

Sofia grinned seductively. "Depends on how much of me you want to see," she said as sultrily as she could.

Vartann smirked at her before closing in for another kiss.

* * *

Catherine took another deep breath and shivered. She was cold. The morning had started out warm. The sun had been shining and the air was invigorating. When she left the house, she felt ready for whatever the world had to throw at her.

And yet, somewhere between her house and where she was now, the sun had dimmed. A steady but uneven covering of clouds blocked the warm rays. The yellow light that was cast down upon the world suddenly had become grayer.

Her world had become grayer.

These past few weeks were like a blur to her. She remembered getting Nick to the hospital that night. What happened after, she could only guess.

Snippets would come to her. The interview with McKeen stood out among the other memories. There had been the man who had caused so much pain. Grissom had been the only one allowed in the room, at least beside Brass, who had conducted the interrogation. It had been a wise decision. Anyone else would probably have tried to strangle the man. Brass had apparently come close.

She barely remembered the rest of the investigation. Catherine had just gone through the motions. Ecklie's promotion and Sofia's return were just blips on her radar. Those would be things to consider later.

Then there was the funeral.

It was beautiful. The weather had been clear. The mourners gathered outside to listen to the pastor speak his word. Many people had attended. Doctors and staff from Desert Palms, Lab employees, and personal friends and family all attended the service.

She remembered Warrick. Tina's mother had done a good job of cleaning him up, but his eyes still looked dead. Catherine had never seen such eyes - that brilliant green reduced to a lifeless pale gray. She was sure those eyes would haunt her for a long time.

Warrick had been remarkably brave during the funeral. Not once did he cry, though everyone could tell he was hurting. He stood up and gave the eulogy himself. His voice broke a couple of times, but again he did not cry. Catherine, as well as many others, did.

After he was done, Warrick somberly walked to the casket and placed two roses on top. Without a word, he sat back down while his mother-in-law held him. No tears were shed.

Catherine could only watch him in awe. Here was this man who had lost everything, yet he still held his head high. While his eyes haunted her, his demeanor encouraged her.

Everyone had been surprised by an unexpected guest at the funeral. Sam Braun arrived and walked directly to the casket. Right next to the roses, he placed a white lily. He then turned toward the grieving family. With a deeply saddened frown on his face, Sam walked toward Tina's mother, bowed his head, and apologized to her. Turning to Warrick, he repeated the gesture. He did not wait for them to accept his words or for either to forgive him. Instead, after gently touching the casket, he went to grab a seat in the back of the church.

His eyes had met Catherine's. When a hand softly touched her arm, Catherine turned to her mother. She saw the pleading look in Lily's eyes. She acquiesced the silent question with a sigh. Once again meeting Sam's gaze, Catherine motioned for him to join her family. Sam took the seat next to her with hesitation. For the rest of the service, Catherine sat between her parents. She didn't know what to make of it.

The relationship hadn't magically repaired itself that day. All it offered was the exposure of another face to the man Catherine didn't understand. Then again, she was beginning to think that she never would understand the paradox that was her father. But perhaps that was the price she would have to pay. Whether she liked it or not, Sam Braun was a part of her life. How she accepted it dictated the ways in which their lives would proceed.

But that was another matter, one that would take far longer to deal with. Now she had a different task.

The house in front of her stood like a monument to a dark memory. The two-story structure, once bright and warm, now resembled a mausoleum. Although the weather was warm, Catherine swore she felt a cold breeze wash over her.

With a shudder, Catherine began walking up the driveway to the front door. With each step, she felt her courage fail. How was she going to do this? This was a situation completely foreign to her.

On the other side of that door was a man she had longed to be with. When he married, she kissed the fantasy goodbye and tried to move on. Had she felt guilty when she heard they were having marital troubles and she had been secretly happy? She told herself yes, but in reality she hadn't. Was she upset when she went against her personal feelings and advised him to switch shifts? She was incredibly upset. Did she feel jealous when she learned Tina was pregnant? Again, yes. But did she want the marriage to end in tragedy? No. But she felt guilty anyway.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there with the front door mocking her. What was she to do? What could she say to such a brave man?

Suddenly, the clouds parted and a ray of light broke through. The cold seemed to vanish in the warm wake. Catherine inhaled deeply.

Her eyes opened with a new sense of understanding. She was only thinking of herself. What was _she_ to do? What would _she _say? This wasn't about her. She was here to console a friend. She had to be bold enough to step through that door, cast her own feelings aside, and be there for him. Whatever happened in the future was of no consequence. Warrick was hurting _now,_ and here she was.

With invigorated steps, she marched up to that door and knocked. Several moments passed before it slowly opened.

Dull green eyes peered out at her before the door opened fully. Warrick appeared less than well. He was unshaven and his clothes were scraggly and unwashed. The skin around his eyes was red.

They stared at each other for awhile. Finally, Warrick stepped aside and held the door. Catherine walked in, gently touched his shoulder, and gave him a comforting smile.

Silently, the door closed behind them.

* * *

The blinds in the front room were open. The sun had already risen and was casting rays of light into the room. Although it was partially cloudy, it felt like a warm day.

It had been awhile since it had been warm.

Wendy Simms sat on her couch biting her thumbnail. She was supposed to be relaxing. The state of her apartment, however, kept her from doing so.

She was a very neat and clean person. She wasn't compulsive about it, but everything had its place. And while she wasn't going to take any awards for the world's cleanliest person, she still liked to maintain the illusion that her space was neat.

Naturally, having Greg move in was going to disrupt a few things. But she had prepared for that. All the boxes lying around were completely normal to her. It would take a little while for him to move everything from his old place to hers. Unpacking would take even more time.

No, she was fine with that. What was upsetting her was the object in the corner. The black monstrosity was nestled between her glass cabinet and her entertainment center - which had its fair share of girly knick-knacks.

This… _thing… _simply wasn't going to fly with her.

"Greg?" she hollered into the kitchen.

"What?" came the reply.

"I think we need to talk."

Greg Sanders poked his head out from behind the wall separating the two rooms. He raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

Wendy looked at him with a mixture of concern and trepidation. "I'm not sure if this is going to work."

Walking into the room, Greg furrowed his brow. "What's not going to work?"

"Sweetie, when you said you wanted to put your music collection next to the TV… well, I assumed you had a CD stand or something. Not… not that." Wendy nodded in the direction of the atrocity.

Greg looked offended. "_That_ is a limited edition Marilyn Manson audio cabinet. What's wrong with it?"

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Greg, it's hideous. Don't tell me the only thing it has in it is Marilyn Manson."

Greg laughed. "No, it has other bands." Opening up the charred black door, Greg pointed out the various titles on the CD covers. "See, here's Anthrax, Nine Inch Nails, , Linkin Park, Black Flag – "

"Greg," Wendy interrupted. "Don't you have anything else besides that? Any regular rock? Pop? What about jazz? You said that you liked listening to it before… you know. Don't you have anything like that?"

With a sigh, Greg closed the cabinet. "I said I didn't mind listening to jazz. I never said I owned any of it. And remember baby steps? I know I'm working through the whole Elicia thing, but baby steps. Please don't play any Kenny G when I'm unprepared, okay?" Greg's face soured. "In fact, don't play any Kenny G at all."

Wendy stood up and approached Greg. She wrapped her arms around him. "You said her name again without a flinch." With her nose, she gave him an Eskimo kiss.

Greg smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

After kissing him chastely, Wendy grinned. "I don't own any jazz anyway. I don't really care for the stuff."

A dumbfounded Greg stared at her. "You don't … But you were going to do that therapy thing with me?"

"I would have done anything with you."

Greg closed his mouth and stared at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. "I love you," he whispered before kissing her again.

Quickly – with lips still attached – they made their way to the couch. After several minutes of playing tonsil hockey, Wendy broke the kiss.

"I love you too," she whispered.

They stayed like that, arms wrapped around each other, for about ten minutes. Neither saying anything to the other. They were content and happy.

It was a rare feeling these days.

Both had worked double, if not triple, shifts the past couple weeks. Greg had managed to stop McKeen from deleting all the files on his computer before all the evidence was gone. Working alongside Archie, he managed to collect enough information to create a solid link between McKeen and Desmond.

Wendy, meanwhile, worked alongside the other DNA techs to sort through the staggering amount of biological evidence from the Pikes explosion. It took several weeks, but in the end they managed to identify everyone killed.

Both had put in for vacation once Catherine and Nick returned from their own holidays. Wendy was looking forward to some downtime with her man. Although he was still out right refusing to see a psychiatrist, he did agree to some therapy programs. He assumed she learned these techniques they were trying from the internet. In reality, she herself had visited the Lab's therapist.

Wendy also wanted to get to know more about Greg. He never talked much about his days as a tech. That was something else that she was hoping to pry from him.

"So, Greg" Wendy said softly. "I've heard all these interesting things in the Lab."

"Oh? About what?"

"About you. All these stories about the crazy things you would pull back when you had my job."

"And?"

"I was wondering if they were true."

She felt Greg smile. "Depends on the story, I guess."

"Dancing around in showgirl headdresses? Playing silly games with the CSIs? Walking around in a swami hat?"

A chuckle escaped Greg's throat. "All true, sadly."

A sly smile graced Wendy's lips. "What about the porn?"

Wendy nearly laughed when she felt Greg's body go still. "Uh… porn?"

"Porn."

"All lies, sadly."

The laugh finally broke free from Wendy's grasp. When she calmed down, another thought crossed her mind. "So when am I going to meet him?"

"Who?"

"The guy with the crazy hair and crazier antics."

"Oh. Him." Greg quieted a moment before answering her. "Well, you can't. He's dead."

"Dead?"

"What you need to know, Wendy, is that there were two Gregs. One good and one evil. Thanks to the power of the great deity Manson, only one survived."

Wendy smirked. "You never said which one survived. The good or the evil?"

Greg eyed her with a dark glint. "That's for me to know."

Her response came in the form of a pillow smacking his head.

"Ouch! Quit it!" He squeaked.

Wendy stood up from the couch and casually approached the Manson cabinet. "So you're saying that I'm stuck with Evil Greg thanks to your little shrine here?"

Greg narrowed his eyes. "What are you…?"

Before he could move, Wendy reached out and placed her hand behind the cabinet and shoved. The entire black eyesore crashed into the ground sending splintered wood and plastic fragments everywhere.

With his mouth open, Greg stared at her in complete shock. Wendy grinned maliciously.

"I think you have a new god now," she added with a dark laugh.

"You bitch," he muttered.

Greg jumped off the couch and leaped at the brunette. Still laughing, Wendy dodged and took off down the hall toward the bedroom. Only seconds behind her was Greg who continued in hot pursuit. The bedroom door slammed shut and her laughter became muffled. New sounds eventually arose out of the room.

Interesting sounds.

* * *

Nick Stokes silently appraised the room in which he stood. It had once been a guest room. The furniture that had inhabited it was simple. A plain bed and a dresser near the closet. It's not like he had guests over often, so why bother decorating?

Now, more had been added. The old bed had been taken out and replaced. Brand new sheets and a comforter were spread out over it. The dresser had been freshly painted, and a nightstand joined it. An empty chest sat at the foot of the bed, waiting to be filled with whatever it could hold. A new ceiling fan had been installed where only an old light fixture had once been.

The only thing that was the same was the walls. Nick wanted the new occupant of the room to pick the color.

Looking around, Nick took a deep breath. It had been a lot of work to get this room to where he liked it. It would have taken him twice as long to do it had he not had help. Nick silently thanked Peter.

After the incident at the Rampart, Nick had felt emotionally drained. This feeling only intensified following the funeral. He had done his best to reach out to Warrick, but his best friend didn't respond. Nick didn't take it personally. Warrick was hurting, and Nick honestly didn't know how to help him.

But, then again, Nick probably wasn't very helpful overall. He didn't have anyone he could talk to and thus was useless to others. Catherine had secluded herself after the funeral and he didn't feel ready to talk to Greg just yet. He wasn't comfortable talking to Grissom or Sara about his stress either. Who he needed was someone who could just listen and understand.

Nick didn't know why he called Dr. Cross, but he was happy he did. Peter was thrilled to meet with Nick, under the Texan's conditions of it not being a therapy session. They met for lunch at a deli. At first it was awkward, but after several minutes of small talk Nick started to rant.

They sat there for two hours with Peter listening politely as Nick rattled off everything that had gone wrong with his life. He got so carried away venting his frustrations that he didn't even care what secrets he spilt.

That is until he saw Peter's eyes widen when Nick explained his issues with Greg. When he realized what he had said, Nick started panicking. Before Peter could say anything, Nick apologized for keeping him out for so long, threw some money on the table, and bolted.

Nick just wanted to go home and forget about everything. After all, the last thing he had planned on doing that day was outing himself to a man he barely knew. He was a mess and he definitely needed time off.

After arriving home, Nick discovered his day of excitement was not quite over. There was a package waiting for him just inside the door. There was no return address. Nick eyed it suspiciously. When he turned it around, he saw the seal on the back. It was the official seal of the Rampart. After ripping it open, he found two envelopes. One was sealed and the other unsealed. The unsealed envelope contained a letter.

_Mr. Stokes,_

_When we first met, I questioned whether you were a good investment for my million dollars. I know now that you were. I also know that you are a man who doesn't like seeing a debt unpaid. Neither am I. You saved my life and my daughter's life. That puts our debt considerably in your favor. I'm not very good at saying thank you or showing gratitude. I trust that this should suffice. Consider all of our debts paid. However, I cannot place a price on the life of my family. Should you need any further assistance, don't hesitate to ask. I always look after those who have done me a considerable service._

_Sam Braun_

Nick blinked. He reread the letter several times before remembering the other envelope. Nick held his breath as he carefully opened it. When he pulled out the slip of paper from inside, he almost fainted. Nick held in his hands a check for five hundred thousand dollars.

Everything after seemed to have traveled at warp speed. After the check cleared, Nick called Mari. The next day, Mari called him back and gave him the good news. Nick was certain his face would break in half from the smile he wore.

Later that day, Peter stopped by to talk. Nick had forgotten everything that he had told him only days before. Instead, he gave Peter the news that everything was a go. Peter had been extremely happy for him and volunteered to help out in any way. Next thing Nick knew, the two men were busy preparing the bedroom.

Then something happened that Nick didn't know how to react to. The room was finished, or as finished as Nick wanted it. Both men were dirty and sweaty. Nick had turned to Peter to thank him, when he was caught by his smile. It was a genuine smile, almost like the ones Greg used to wear.

"This is pretty bold of you," Peter had said.

"What is?"

Peter indicated the room. "This."

"Is that bad?" Nick questioned.

Peter continued to smile. "Not at all."

Then the doctor stepped forward and kissed Nick. The lips were soft and not very forceful. Instead of being overly eager, the kiss was chaste. Before the Texan could react to it though, it was over. Peter stepped back and smiled. Nick couldn't help but return the grin.

"I'd better be going," Peter stated. "But call me. I want to meet this brave little girl."

Nick's smile grew. "You know I will. And I want you to meet her."

And now it was the day. Nick had spent hours making sure the house was perfect. He had run around checking every room, every corner. It had to be perfect.

A sound snapped him out his thoughts. It sounded like a car door. His breath catching in his throat, Nick walked to the front room and peered out.

A silver Sedan was parked in the driveway. Mari McCabe was standing by the driver side door, smiling at the house. Nick bounded over to the front door and pulled it open. Mari smiled at him before walking over to the other side of the car and opened the back door. Nick once again was afraid his face would break in half.

Cassie McBride hopped out of the car, looked at Nick and ran toward him with a smile to rival his own. Nick dropped to one knee and opened his arms wide, catching the girl as she collided with him.

Mari, her own smile on her face, walked up to the new family. "Congratulations, Mr. Stokes. You are now the legal guardian of Cassie McBride-Stokes. I wish you both the best of luck."

Nick only nodded his head at the woman. He couldn't speak as tears of joy ran down his cheeks. He finally had what he always wanted. He finally had his family.

* * *

Night had fallen hours ago. The occupant of the enclosed space didn't know that though. He couldn't tell. The cell was dark and cramped. It smelled of a toilet and looked like one too. But at least it was away from the other inmates.

Jeff McKeen had been placed in isolation following his imprisonment. It was deemed too dangerous to have the former undersheriff locked up with so many criminals he had helped put away. Although thankful for this, McKeen was still miserable.

A knock on his cell door made him look up with disdain. Who the hell would be bothering now? His trial wasn't for three months, and the judge had barred any visitors save for family or lawyers.

McKeen smiled slightly thinking it was Diane here to visit him.

The cell door opened and McKeen was surprised to see Officer Akers. McKeen wiped away his surprise and smirked at the young cop.

"What are you doing here? Braun let you off the leash?"

Akers didn't move. He just glared at the man. "You have a visitor," he said simply.

Once again, McKeen thought of Diane. The expression on Aker's face, however, wiped away his hopes. Akers sneered at him before stepping aside to allow another man to enter the cell.

McKeen swallowed nervously as Amon Tomaz walked slowly toward him. His eyes were drawn to the gleaming, serrated knife in Amon's hand.

Silently, Akers walked out of the cell and closed the door behind him.

Across town, Sam Braun looked over at Lily Flynn adoringly. They were sitting on the outer balcony of a restaurant overlooking the construction of the new Eclipse hotel and casino.

Braun's cell phone suddenly chirped making him frown. With a sigh, he pulled out the phone and read the text message from Andy Akers.

Sam Braun smiled.

* * *

A/N: Well, there it is. I can't believe its over. I feel relieved and very sad at the same time. I honestly don't know how to react.

I did this mainly because I wanted to bring back the three characters I miss the most from the show: Warrick, Sofia and Sam. There's always the chance Sofia might return, but why did Warrick and Sam have to die?

I have a confession to make: I'm a nerd. Want to know how much? This whole story is filled with references to DC Comics (you know, the comic books with Batman, Superman etc.). Every OC Character (except for three) is named after an obscure comic book character from DC (and one of the names was altered slightly). The title "The Brave and The Bold" was also a comic book title. I know. Nerd.

I want to thank everyone who reviewed this. If I PM'd you at any point throughout the story, that means I really REALLY valued your feedback. A special thank you goes out to you. A big thanks to the readers as well. I know not everyone reviews and that's fine. Seeing how many people were following (and from so many countries) is still a compliment.

My beta, Happyharper 13, was invaluable in this endeavor. The story was as good as it was thanks to her. I love that woman. Everyone message her and give her a big thank you. She deserves it.

Finally, please review. Tell me what you liked, didn't like, etc. I'm open to all criticisms. I have thick skin, I can take harsh words. :)

~ I hold no claim to any copyrighted material used in this story ~


End file.
